The Memory Game
by Kara Sullivan
Summary: Tag to season 6 episode 11 Appointment in Samarra.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This is a tag to the Season 6 episode Appointment in Samarra, and as such may include spoilers for anything up through Season 6 episode 11. Many thanks to my wonderful beta Cynbad3 for encouraging me to write this, and also for the quick beta job! **_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, and I make no money from this venture. I write only because it's fun! **_

_**The Memory Game**_

_**Chapter 1**_

The first thing he was aware of was that his throat hurt. When he thought about it a little longer, it wasn't just his throat. While that seemed raw and sore, almost as if he had been screaming, his chest throbbed, and his whole body ached like he had the flu. And there was something wrong with his head. His thoughts seemed scrambled, and for a frightening minute, he couldn't even remember his name. Sam. It came to him suddenly. His name was Sam Winchester.

He shifted restlessly on his bed, startled into opening his eyes by the sound of metal. He lifted his head weakly off the pillow, staring down in confusion at his right arm. It appeared to be shackled to the bed. That didn't seem normal, although he seemed to remember this happening on more than one occasion before. He couldn't quite recall why it had happened on those previous occasions. He knew something bad had happened, but he couldn't quite remember.

Looking to his left, he tried shifting that arm experimentally, further perplexed when that arm wouldn't move either. Next he tried lifting his legs one at a time, no longer surprised when they didn't move. For some reason he was chained to his bed. He tried to concentrate on why that would have been, and after a few minutes of staring blankly at the ceiling, it finally came to him. Panic room. He was in the panic room again. When he had been chained in here before, it had been because he was coming down off of demon blood. Had he been drinking the vile stuff again? An image popped into his mind of him drinking it out of a gallon jug. His heart rate accelerated and the pain in his chest ramped up. What had he done?

A rustle of cloth caught his attention, and he turned bleary eyes toward the noise. There were two chairs lined up against the wall, and one of them was currently occupied by his brother, Dean. Sam frowned, struggling to remember something that seemed to hover just outside his grasp; something to do with Dean. He struggled to focus his eyes, startled by his brother's appearance. Dean looked exhausted, even though he was currently asleep.

The older Winchester was slumped in his chair, head back against the wall. Sam blinked, wondering if his eyes were still blurry or if Dean actually looked older somehow. His brother's face was pale, and even asleep there were dark circles ringing his eyes. Even his hair seemed subdued, not as spiky as it usually was. Sam wondered if Dean had been sick or something.

Suddenly an image blasted into Sam's mind. Dean, face beaten so badly it was almost unrecognizable, crumpled on the hood of the Impala. Sam pulling his fist back to hit him again with bloodstained knuckles. Dean repeating over and over that he was there and he wasn't going to leave him.

Tears sprang to his eyes. This wasn't just an image, and it wasn't even a nightmare. The rest of the memory came back, and Sam lost his battle with the tears. He had not only beaten Dean half to death, but Castiel and Bobby were both dead because of him. He had been so sure that he could handle Lucifer, so sure it had been the only way to save the world and stop the apocalypse. Instead he had merely killed two thirds of the only family he had left, and beaten his brother half to death. And apparently, he hadn't even managed to stop Lucifer.

He remembered lunging toward the hole in the ground, but Michael had stopped him. He had tried to fall back into the hole anyway, but then it all got a little bit fuzzy. Obviously he hadn't been successful, or else why would he be chained to a cot in the panic room? He must have been here for a while, because Dean's face seemed to have healed, but the trauma could definitely explain why his brother looked so tired, and even older.

Sam wondered if Lucifer was still hanging around, or if he had escaped at some point. His overwhelming failure overcame him, and Sam broke down into sobs, turning his head away from Dean. He couldn't bear to look at what he had done to his brother. "I'm sorry," he whispered. And once he started he couldn't seem to stop. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . . . ."

He vaguely heard the chair squeak, and then he flinched when a firm hand came down on his shoulder, but he continued with his mantra, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice seemed uncertain, and this just made Sam feel worse. His brother was afraid to be around him, and Sam couldn't blame him. "Sam, look at me."

Sam shook his head, trying to turn away even further in his misery, but Dean's hand left his shoulder and grasped his chin, forcing Sam to tilt his head back toward him. Sam opened waterlogged eyes enough to see that Dean was looking concerned.

"Sam, it's okay. You're okay now. Just take it easy. Everything's going to be okay." Dean's soft voice was probably supposed to be soothing, but all Sam could think of was that he had taken away Dean's closest friends and nearly killed him, and for what? The apocalypse would still happen, and now 'Team Free Will' was down two of its four members.

He closed his eyes again, trying to turn his head away, but Dean wouldn't let go. He didn't remember ever feeling so worthless and in so much pain. It would have been hard enough to know that Cas and Bobby were dead, but to know that they had both died by his own hand made it unbearable. He opened his eyes again, meeting his brother's gaze desperately.

"Why didn't you just kill me?" He moaned, closing his eyes again.

"Sammy, hang on." Dean's voice sounded panicked now, and he ran his spare hand through Sam's hair gently. "Castiel!"

Sam was confused now. How could Dean be calling for Castiel? Sam distinctly remembered snapping his fingers and the angel exploding gruesomely all over Bobby. Just the thought made him nauseous, and he gagged. Dean fumbled with the handcuffs and got him loose and tilted over the edge of the cot just in time to lose the contents of his stomach. Even after he had expelled everything in his system, his stomach continued to rebel, forcing painful dry heaves. Dean gripped his shoulders tightly, rubbing one hand across his back soothingly.

"It's okay, Sammy. Just relax, little brother. Castiel!"

Sam heard footsteps pounding down the basement stairs and excited voices, but he was too preoccupied by his stomach trying to turn itself inside out to pay too much attention. Every time he tried to calm down, he recalled Castiel's death and started heaving all over again. Even worse, now the images of Castiel were interspersed with Bobby's neck breaking over and over again.

Suddenly a strong hand lifted his head, and Sam looked up, startled, into Castiel's fierce blue eyes just before two fingers touched to his forehead and everything went black.

_**TBC . . . **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: You guys are awesome! Thanks so much for reading, and especially for all of the reviews, favorites and alerts! A very special thanks to my wonderful beta, Cynbad3, who will probably be very tired at work tomorrow because she stayed up late to help me get this chapter ready to post right away! **_

_**Disclaimer in chapter 1**_

_**Chapter 2**_

Sam had been out long enough that both Dean and Bobby had gotten tired waiting for him to wake up. Bobby had gone upstairs to sleep in his bed, but Dean had opted to stay with Sam on the off chance that his brother would finally wake up. Death had performed his little procedure that had left Dean cringing at his brother's screams of pain, but then once the glowing light had died down, Sam had immediately passed out, and he hadn't so much as moved in the long hours since then.

Death had vanished after one last significant look at Dean, as if to remind him of his order that he keep digging, leaving Dean and Bobby staring at Sam in silence. Dean had immediately checked Sam's pulse and breathing and then relaxed, convinced his brother was physically fine. Then Bobby had disappeared into the recesses of his basement, returning with two dusty fold-up lawn chairs, which he had set up against the wall, brushing the dust from the material. Without a word, the two men had sat down and the vigil had begun.

When Bobby had finally given up and gone up to bed, Dean leaned back in his chair, still watching Sam for any signs of movement. He wasn't sure whether he wanted Sam to wake up soon or not. He was really worried about his brother's state of mind. What would he remember? Would the wall hold, or would he wake up with all of his horrendous memories intact? Had they done the right thing, or had Castiel been correct that the kindest thing would have been to have left him the way he was? Dean shook his head at this thought. Sam could not have continued living the way he was. If Death had not decided to help them, he didn't know what would have become of Sam, but they could not have let him continue to exist as the detached would-be killer he had become.

Dean continued to watch Sam for a while, still lost in thought. He studied his brother critically, realizing that since Sam had not slept since the two brothers had been reunited, this was the most peaceful he had seen his younger brother in over a year and a half. Sam was limp on the cot, his head turned to the side, and even with the long hair straggling across his face, he still looked young and innocent like this. Dean crossed to the cot and brushed the hair out of Sam's face, cursing himself for a sentimental fool as he did. The Sam he had known for the past several months would have laughed at him for such a girly gesture.

Dean sat back down in the chair, stretching his legs out and leaning back against the wall. If he was being honest, a part of him had secretly found some of the changes in his brother refreshing in a way. True, the fact that Dean was now the most empathetic brother was a pain, especially when they had to interview a grief stricken wife or mother. He had never envied Sam that part of his job, and now that _he _had become the more approachable of the two, he often got entangled in uncomfortably emotional moments with the family members of victims.

But Dean had spent his entire life trying to protect Sam not only physically, but also emotionally, and Sam's new take-charge attitude had relieved him at first. It had actually been kind of nice to let Sam take the lead at times, especially since Dean was a bit rusty after a year off from hunting. Letting Sam take charge of the hunt had given him a chance to begin adjusting to life without Lisa and Ben, and a way to let him get his feet wet before jumping all the way back in.

Even though he had been wary of Sam's state of mind, watching him spout one-liners at the cop on the dock in Buffalo, and even, if he was being honest, to that freaky Fairy lady in Elwood had been entertaining to some extent. It had been amusing to hear Sam say the things that he knew they both had been thinking but professionalism would never let Dean actually say. He couldn't let Sam know that, though, so he had immediately launched into the whole Pinocchio/Jiminy Cricket analogy.

As he had thought about it more, however, the blunt comments had become less amusing and more disturbing. He really hoped that when Sam finally woke up he would not remember the things he had said and done while soul-less. He always came across so empathetic and caring with their witnesses that he would be mortified by his behavior.

Dean closed his eyes wearily. He had been sitting down here for nearly twelve hours, only leaving briefly a few times for necessary trips upstairs. And he had made sure that Bobby was sitting here while he was gone in case Sam woke up. Bobby seemed a little skittish if he got too close to Sam, but Dean knew that their surrogate father still cared about him. It was going to take time to get over the fact that if Dean had been one minute later getting back, Bobby would have been dead and Sam would have been beyond redemption in Dean's eyes. If Sam had succeeded in killing Bobby, it would have made him the monster he had always feared becoming. Dean was just glad that he had arrived back in time to avert the disaster that had been unfolding.

He must have dozed off, but he didn't think it had been for very long, when he jerked awake to a change in the room. Sitting up, he looked at the cot with bleary eyes, and then jumped to his feet. Sam was awake, but his whole body was tensed up, and his face was turned toward the wall. Dean could still hear the hitching of his brother's breath as he muttered something over and over. He walked hesitantly toward the cot, not wanting to spook the younger man. As he got closer, he could hear what Sam was saying over and over again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . . ."

Dean's blood ran cold. Sam was sobbing in between the words, and he wondered if this meant that the wall hadn't held. Or did Sam remember what he had done since his body had returned from the cage? _Something _was crushing him with guilt, and Dean couldn't stand it. He had wanted his brother back, but what if Sam was too damaged to live like this? Stepping forward, he laid a firm hand on Sam's shoulder, hoping to comfort him, but Sam flinched like he had hit him, hunching further away.

"Sammy?" Dean ventured tentatively, wanting to make sure his brother knew he was there. "Sam, look at me."

Sam stopped repeating his unnerving apology, but he shook his head, trying to pull away. Dean was not about to let that happen, not after everything he had done in search of this moment. He grasped Sam's chin, gently but firmly twisting his brother's face toward him so he could see his eyes.

Sam looked up at him with hazel eyes full of tears, and Dean thought painfully that he had never seen Sam look this devastated, not after losing Jess, not after Madison, not after losing Dad, not even after finding out how Ruby had tricked him into starting the Apocalypse.

"Sam, it's okay. You're okay now. Just take it easy. Everything's going to be okay." Dean tried his best to sound like the strong older brother who had spent his life taking care of Sam, but he was afraid he had probably come across instead as weak and helpless as he felt right now.

At any rate, Sam didn't seem to buy his act. He closed his eyes again, trying unsuccessfully to turn his head away, but Dean refused to let go. He was not about to let Sam deal with this alone. Sam moaned, a tortured, desperate sound, and then choked out six words that chilled Dean to the bone.

"Why didn't you just kill me?"

Dean's panic exploded. What was his little brother remembering that was so bad that he would rather be dead? Death had said the wall had a seventy-five percent chance of working, but maybe it had failed. Dean frantically tried to figure out what he could do to help his brother, distractedly petting Sam's head in an impotent attempt at comforting him. "Sammy, hang on." In sudden inspiration, he turned his head toward the ceiling, knowing what he needed to do. "Castiel!"

Sam jerked away from him, confused, but then the color drained from his face and he gagged. Dean knew Sam well enough to know what was coming, and he frantically unlocked the cuffs, getting Sam tilted over the edge of the cot just as he started heaving. He didn't have a lot in his stomach, but even after he had expelled it all, his stomach continued to heave painfully. Dean grimaced, but held on, rubbing Sam's back soothingly. "It's okay, Sammy. Just relax, little brother. Castiel!"

His bellow might not have brought the angel, but it did bring Bobby thundering down the stairs, wiping sleep from his eyes with one hand and holding a shotgun loaded with salt in the other. "What's wrong?"

Dean looked up at Bobby desperately as Sam's heaving seemed to only get worse. "I don't know what to do for him, Bobby! I don't think the wall worked, and something keeps making him hurl. Cas would know what to do, but he isn't coming, and I don't know how to fix this!"

Bobby leaned the shotgun across the abandoned chairs, stepping forward to rest one hand on Dean's shoulder and the other on Sam's. "Take it easy, Dean. It's going to be okay. We'll get him calmed down, and then we'll figure this out."

Dean shook his head, eyes burning. "I should have left him alone. Why did I think this would be better? I'm supposed to look out for him, and look what I did to him."

"I warned you this could happen."

Both men turned to see Castiel standing behind them, watching them impassively.

Dean's panic turned to fury. "Could you save the 'I told you so' for later and help him?"

Cas studied him for a few seconds, and then leaned in and grasped Sam's chin in his hand, lifting the drooping head firmly. Sam's face was wet with the sheen of a cold sweat and his eyes still dripped tears as they roamed the room lazily, but he squinted and focused lethargically on Castiel, looking confused. Cas touched two fingers to the center of the younger man's forehead, and Sam went limp in Dean's arms.

"Thank you." Dean was struggling to contain his own emotions now that Sam was no longer suffering, but he blinked against the threat of tears and cleared his throat. "Is there any way you could help me get him upstairs?" Before the words were completely out, Dean blinked to find all four of them in the spare bedroom that Sam and Dean shared when visiting Bobby. "Uh, thanks."

Dean and Bobby situated Sam on his bed, removing his shoes and covering him with a blanket. Castiel watched from the other side of the room, and Dean thought that even though Cas seemed impassive, the fact that he was still here was an indication that their friend was concerned as well. Cas may not show emotions well, but Dean had no doubt that he did care about them. Once Sam was as comfortable as they could make him, Dean sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

"It didn't work, did it?" He rubbed his eyes wearily. "He's going to be a basket case, and it's all my fault."

Castiel shook his head. "I don't know, Dean. Until we can get him to wake up and be calm, there is no way to know for certain what caused that reaction. I do fear that it may be his memories of the cage, but I cannot say for sure."

Dean nodded, letting his head droop forward. He was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open, but he didn't want to leave Sam alone. Bobby came back into the room with a basin of water and a cloth, and Dean wondered distractedly how he had missed Bobby leaving in the first place. He stood up, intending to take the basin, but Bobby shook his head, clutching the bowl more tightly.

"Let me do this, Dean."

Dean studied Bobby's face for a minute and then nodded. It would probably be good for the older man to be able to interact with Sam while he wasn't awake to seem threatening. He thought again of how close he had come to losing both of them. If Sam had actually killed Bobby, Dean would have had no choice but to take him out. He sat back down beside his brother and watched as Bobby cleaned the sweat and gore from Sam's face and neck. Dean figured he should probably change his brother's shirt, too, as it appeared to be sweat-soaked, but that could wait. He was terrified that they would wake Sam again and they would be right back where they started.

Sam shifted on the bed and his breathing hitched again, but he didn't seem to be quite back with them yet. Cas studied him critically, and then turned to Dean. "He should be waking up again any minute. We should wait outside. Let us know if you need us."

Dean barely acknowledged Castiel's words, already fully focused on his brother. He wondered anxiously what Sam's frame of mind would be when he did finally wake up. But then suddenly it was too late for thinking, because Sam sat up with a ragged gasp, hazel eyes wide with panic.

_**TBC . . .**_


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Thank you so much for the wonderful repsonse to this story! I appreciate you all for reading it, and especially for the reviews, alerts and favorites. You're awesome! And a huge thank you to Cynbad3 for another late night making sure this was ready to post. Thanks for keeping me moving on this, and for letting me bounce ideas off you at odd hours of the night! :)_**

**_Disclaimer in chapter 1_**

**_Chapter 3_**

The second time Sam woke, he wasn't in any hurry. He couldn't remember why, but he had a feeling that something terrible was just waiting for him, something that he didn't want to face. So he relaxed his body and tried to drift back to sleep. He was so close it didn't seem like it should be too hard to just drift off again, but his aching body prodded him ruthlessly toward wakefulness. He moved his arms and legs restlessly, trying to get comfortable, but the ache seemed to grow the further he drifted from sleep. He moaned in frustration, and then held his breath for a few seconds.

Something seemed different. It took him a few minutes of thinking as hard as he could to remember that he had been handcuffed to the cot the last time he had been awake, and why. He could feel his heart rate picking up speed and deliberately forced himself to think about his current situation rather than the reason for it. He shifted his arms again experimentally. They were definitely not shackled now. Thinking was hard, but he vaguely remembered Dean setting him free so that he didn't heave all over himself. Under the circumstances, that had been more consideration than he deserved. His brother should have just left him to lie in his own filth. It was all he deserved.

Without opening his eyes, he tried to figure out what was going on. He could hear someone breathing near him, and after twenty-seven years of experience, he immediately knew who it was. Dean had always taken his big brother responsibilities very seriously, although he supposed the years he was away at college and the four months that Dean had been . . . well, he had _most_ of twenty-seven years of experience. He knew that his loyal brother would take care of him even if he shouldn't. He distinctly remembered Dean refusing to kill him even when faced with convincing evidence that Sam had gone bad when Meg had possessed him.

He supposed that now was no different. Dean would never kill him, no matter what. Apparently not even if he failed at everything he had tried to do to save the world. He had started the Apocalypse and then failed to stop it, and still Dean was sitting patiently beside his bed waiting for him to wake up. He shifted again. He had thought he had heard soft voices when he had started surfacing from his sleep, but it was silent now, and he realized he must have just imagined it. After all, who would he have been talking to anyway? Dean must have taken over Bobby's place as a base of operation after their surrogate father's death.

Tears prickled behind his eyes, and Sam squirmed restlessly again, trying not to think about what he had done to Bobby, and _especially_ not about what he had done to Castiel. A startlingly clear image of the angel exploded into his mind . . . and wasn't _that_ a bad choice of words! Sam swallowed hard, concentrating on the image. Castiel's face was grim, but his eyes were soft with compassion. He saw the angel's fingers heading toward his forehead and then nothing. That could not possibly be a memory. He had seen Cas die with his own eyes. It must have been a hallucination, some twisted kind of wishful thinking.

But maybe it hadn't been a hallucination. Sam opened his eyes and sat up abruptly, his panicked eyes roaming over his brother's haggard face. Dean looked like he hadn't shaved in a while, and he still looked older, even up close. It appeared he had just been sitting there watching Sam sleep, which actually seemed kind of creepy, now that he thought about it. Sam grabbed his arm with a shaking hand. His eyes roamed the room, searching for anyone else who might have been talking with Dean. Regrettably but unsurprisingly, nobody was there.

"Sammy?"

Dean was still sounding hesitant, but Sam figured it might have something to do with the fact that he had just behaved like a crazy person. He forced himself to meet Dean's eyes for a few seconds before shame overcame him, and he studied the blanket spread over his legs. He nodded his head minutely, so Dean would know he had heard him.

"Sammy, I need you to talk to me. What's wrong with you?" Dean leaned forward, trying to stoop to see Sam's eyes, but Sam turned away.

Finally, he cleared his throat and looked up at Dean, forcing himself to hold his brother's gaze. He knew he looked as panicked as he felt when he blurted, "Who's here?"

Dean leaned forward, not quite touching Sam, but sitting as close to him as he could. "Take it easy, Sam. It's just you and me. Nobody is going to hurt you."

Sam recognized the tone of voice Dean was using as the one he used when dealing with traumatized victims when they were hunting. Actually, now that he thought about it, the last time he had heard that tone from his brother was at Stull Cemetery when Sam had been beating him to death. Dean's face had been almost unrecognizable by then, and he had choked the words out past swollen lips and bloodstained teeth, but it had still been the same tone. _"Sam . . . it's okay. It's okay, I'm here. I'm here . . . and I'm not going to leave you."_

Sam was starting to feel nauseous again, and he wasn't sure his stomach could handle another bout of vomiting. It already shot pain through him every time he moved. He knew he needed to answer Dean's question, but he needed another minute to get over the disappointment of finding out he had been right about Castiel's demise. Nobody was here but the two brothers, and he had to have dreamed or imagined the voices earlier and the image of Castiel.

"I . . . "He had to clear his throat again before the word came out properly. "I failed." Tears filled his eyes again despite his resolve to stop getting all misty-eyed over everything. He didn't have the right to mourn those he had destroyed.

Dean looked puzzled for a minute, but then his face filled with sadness as he studied Sam closely. "You mean killing Bobby?"

He seemed really upset about it, and Sam couldn't blame him. He was upset about it, too, and he hadn't had to deal with the fallout, just the execution itself, although of course that wasn't all of it. There was also the whole failing to stop the Apocalypse issue, too. Sam nodded regretfully. "Yes. And Cas." He choked the name out, nearly losing control of his stomach again as the image of the bloody aftermath of Castiel's death haunted him.

Dean narrowed his eyes, looking angry now. "You were going to kill Castiel, too?"

Somehow, Sam had lost his grasp on this conversation. What did Dean mean by that question? "I wasn't _going_ to kill him. I _did_!"

Dean stared back at him as if he was crazy, but suddenly his face cleared and his eyes lit up as if he had just figured something out, going back to the gentle voice from before. "Sam, Cas and Bobby are not dead."

Sam wanted to believe him, but he had seen it happen, had _made_ it happen. "I know what I saw, Dean. I killed them both, and I almost killed you too." He dropped his eyes again, picking sullenly at a tiny tear in the blanket.

Dean leaned forward. "Look at me, Sam." His voice wasn't gentle this time. It was the commanding voice of Sam's big brother, the voice he had instinctively obeyed his whole life. Against his better judgment, he raised his head and looked at Dean tentatively. "I promise you. Cas and Bobby are not dead."

Sam glared, furious that his brother was lying to him like this. "You just said we're the only ones here. I remember them dying. I remember _killing_ them both. So how are they not dead?"

Dean sighed, patting Sam's shoulder kindly. Then he turned toward the door. "Cas? Could you come in now?"

The door opened, and Sam choked back a sob of relief as Castiel walked into the room, studying Sam curiously. He stood there for a minute, just watching Sam, and then he stepped forward.

"It is good to see you awake, Sam. Are you feeling better?"

Sam shuddered with reaction, nodding mutely. Dean looked at Castiel significantly. "Sam thought that you were _dead,_ Cas. You and Bobby both."

Cas looked confused for a moment, and then his expression turned to understanding and pity. "I am well, Sam. While I did die temporarily, I was restored and was able to restore both Bobby and Dean to full health. Bobby is waiting right outside the door."

This derailed Sam's train of thought, and he looked longingly at the door. Dean noticed the direction of his gaze and cleared his throat. "Hey, Bobby? Do you have a minute to come in here? I think Sam needs to see that you're not dead."

Bobby walked into the room slowly, stopping just inside the door. "Hey, Sam. How are you feeling?" His voice sounded sincerely concerned, but Sam was confused by his refusal to move any further into the room.

"Better, now that I see you're okay!" Sam smiled weakly at the man he thought of as a second father.

Bobby looked warily at Dean. Dean nodded. "Sam here thought he had killed you and Castiel. And had beaten me half to death. That's the last thing he remembers, right Sam?"

Sam was sure that there were hidden meanings bouncing all over the room between the other three men, but he couldn't figure out why. He nodded soberly. "Well, that and trying to stop the Apocalypse. I'm really sorry it didn't work. I thought I had him." The pain of his failure was overwhelming.

The other three men exchanged grim glances, and then Castiel nodded at Dean. Dean nodded back before turning to Sam. "Sam, you _did_ stop the Apocalypse. Lucifer is back in the cage. You did it."

That made absolutely no sense to Sam. "Then how am I here? I remember trying to jump into the cage, and then Adam . . . I mean Michael showed up to try and stop me. I tried to fall back into the cage anyway, and then I woke up chained to the cot in the panic room." He narrowed his eyes at Dean suspiciously. "What did you do? You didn't make a deal, did you?" He could feel the panic starting again.

Dean shook his head. "No, Sam. I didn't make a deal." He looked away when he said it, and Sam knew instinctively that his brother had just told him a lie. He glared at him angrily. Hadn't Dean learned anything from all of the failed deals members of their family had made over the years?

"Sam, it's not what you think. I didn't bring you back, although I will admit I did try. What I tried isn't important, but it didn't work. But you're here anyway. Just be glad of that and let it go, okay?"

Dean met his eyes now, and this time he appeared to be telling the truth. So he had tried to make a deal, but it hadn't worked. Sam supposed that he should have expected it. After all, he had tried everything he could think of after the hellhounds had taken Dean from him. At least whatever his brother had tried hadn't worked, so Dean didn't owe anyone anything for Sam's miraculous return.

"So if you didn't bring me back, then who did?"

Dean looked away again. "It's a long story, Sam, and one I don't think you're ready to hear yet. You need to get some rest and get used to being topside again."

Sam nodded, deciding to let it go for now, although he vowed to bring it up again as soon as he was feeling more like himself and less emotional. He didn't understand why his emotions seemed to be so out of control. Although Dean teased him all the time about being 'emo' and a girl, he normally had more of a handle on them than this.

"So, do you need to get back to Lisa and Ben now that I'm awake and feeling better?" Sam hoped that Dean had at least kept that part of his promise and had gone to Lisa after Sam's death. When Dean shifted uneasily on the edge of the bed and rubbed a hand through his hair, both sure signs of a guilty conscience in his brother, Sam narrowed his eyes again. "You _did_ go to her like you promised, right?"

"Yes, Sam." Dean was curt now, and Sam knew he had touched a nerve. "I went to her just like you wanted, and I stayed there for a while. But it's over now."

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam thought back to his time with Jessica and mourned the fact that Dean hadn't been able to experience a similar relationship with Lisa. "What happened?"

Dean shifted again, looked up at Bobby and then Castiel as though looking for help, and then looked back at Sam. "It's . . . it was . . . it just didn't work out."

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's evasion. "Dean, don't forget I've had twenty-seven years to learn your tells. I know you're hiding something from . . ."

"Twenty-eight." Dean's interruption seemed to be automatic, but then he cringed like he couldn't believe he had let that slip.

"Excuse me?" Sam wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he was determined he was going to figure it out. He seemed to have been dropped into the middle of this scene without a script, but he needed to know what all of the secrecy was about. "What's twenty-eight?"

Dean's shoulders drooped, defeated. "You are," he mumbled.

"I am?" Sam repeated blankly. And then his heart started to pound again. "Dean, the last thing I remember, I had just turned twenty-seven. And now you're telling me I'm twenty-eight?" At Dean's miserable nod, Sam brushed a suddenly shaky hand through hair that was much longer than he remembered. None of this made any sense. "Exactly _how_ long was I in the cage?"

**_TBC . . ._**

**_I have been moving through this more quickly than I normally do, and I hope to be able to keep up the pace, if I can. I would like to get at least most of the story posted before Friday when it will officially become an AU. Sometimes a story will not let me end it when I originally thought I should, though, so I guess we will have to wait and see. _**


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N: Thanks as always to Cynbad3 for the beta job and the encouragment! Thank you so much to all of you for reading, especially to those who have reviewed, set as favorite or put on alert. I'm overwhelmed by your support! This whole fandom rocks! _**

**_Disclaimer in part 1_**

**_Chapter 4_**

To say that Sam's sudden return to wakefulness had been a surprise was a bit of an understatement. Dean had thought he was prepared to deal with his brother's reaction, but the minute Sam had rested his panic filled eyes on him, all of Dean's brilliant ideas on how to help him had flown out the window.

Dean hadn't been quite sure what (or who) Sam was looking for, but he would do just about anything right now to get that horrible look of fear off of the younger man's face. He had tried to get his brother's attention, calling his name and even leaning down to try to look him in the eye, but Sam wasn't having any part of that. Instead, he continued to search the room, fear-filled eyes darting nervously back and forth.

Finally Sam met his eyes long enough to count as actual eye contact and urgently choked out, "Who's here?"

Well, that answered the question of whether he was looking for a _what_ or a _who_, but not who it was that Sam was so afraid was here. Dean leaned forward, trying to get as close to him as he possibly could without touching him. What he really wanted to do was to wrap Sam as tightly as possible in a hug, even though Sam would make fun of him later for his emotional display. That was just the way Winchesters did things. In fact, that would actually be awesome, because it would mean that Sammy was getting back to his normal self. But his gut instincts were screaming at him that if he touched Sam right now, he would lose him.

Well, if Sam was afraid of someone he thought or was hallucinating was here, that was one area where Dean would be happy to assist. Keeping his voice as non-threatening as he possibly could, he attempted to calm his brother. "Take it easy, Sam. It's just you and me. Nobody is going to hurt you."

He was expecting his gentle voice and calm statements to reassure and settle Sam, but strangely they had the opposite reaction, and Sam was starting to look like he might need to hurl again any minute. Sam's eyes were swimming with tears in the brief moment before he dropped his gaze, picking at the blanket again. Dean figured that if they didn't get this situation straightened out very soon there would be holes in the blanket that you could drive the Impala through.

"I . . . "Whatever Sam was trying to say was leaving him tormented, and Dean fervently hoped it wasn't memories of the cage already breaking through the wall. "I failed."

Dean was puzzled about what he could possibly mean, but then it hit him along with an oppressive feeling of dread. Could Sam be remembering what he had done while soulless? Was he remembering his aborted attack on Bobby? Was _that_ who he was looking for so fearfully? He didn't even try to hide the sadness he felt at this thought. What would they do if Death's procedure hadn't worked at all?

"You mean killing Bobby?" he finally asked neutrally.

Sam nodded sullenly. "Yes. And Cas." He choked the name out, as if it physically hurt to say it.

This admission nearly pushed Dean over the edge. It was bad enough that Sam had nearly killed Bobby, who had been a second father to the brothers since they were small children, but to think he had been planning to also kill an _angel_, one who had defied his superiors and given up everything in an effort to help them, was almost the last straw. Anger surged through him wildly. "You were going to kill Castiel, too?"

Sam shook his head, gaping vacantly at his brother. He looked completely confused. "I wasn't _going_ to kill him. I _did_!"

_Wait. . . . what?_ Dean stared incredulously at the younger man, frantically trying to figure out what was really going on here. Sam thought he had killed Bobby and Cas? Why would he think . . . And then it hit him. If Death had really been successful in erecting a wall in Sam's head to keep back the horrendous memories of the cage that he would be subject to, what would be the last thing he would recall? Most likely being a spectator in his own body at the deaths of Castiel and Bobby literally by his hand. _Before_ Sam had jumped into the cage. _Before_ Cas had been restored. _Before_ he had resurrected Bobby and healed Dean.

Sam hadn't been afraid that someone else was in the room, he had been afraid that someone else _wasn't _in the room. Dean had completely misread this whole situation. No wonder Sam had been hit by that mega puke-fest earlier. Every time Dean pictured Castiel and Bobby's deaths, he got a little nauseous himself, and he had known all along that they had both survived. He suppressed a shudder and forced himself to switch to the commanding voice he had used his whole life to get Sam to listen. As much as he would like to be kind and gentle with him, he knew that's not what would reach his brother now. "I promise you. Cas and Bobby are not dead."

If there was one thing that Dean was an expert on, it was Sammy. And now that he understood what had happened, Dean was sure that what he was dealing with was one hundred percent Sammy. The younger man thought Dean was just trying to make his little brother feel better about what he had done. So Dean was completely prepared for Sam's angry outburst. "You just said we're the only ones here. I remember them dying. I remember _killing_ them both. So how are they not dead?"

Dean sighed, patiently patting his brother on the shoulder before turning to the empty doorway. It was time to bring in the big guns. "Cas? Could you come in now?"

Watching Sam's reaction when Castiel walked nonchalantly through that door validated Dean's theory, not that he had needed the sight of Sam's shoulders drooping in confused relief to know that his brother was overjoyed to see their friend. While he hadn't understood much about 'RoboSam', he knew _Sammy _like the back of his hand.

Castiel looked back and forth between the brothers, and then stepped closer to the bed to speak to Sam. Dean winced sympathetically as Sam actually shuddered at the angel's voice. This was proof that Cas was still alive and not an apparition. He quickly filled Castiel in about Sam thinking that both he and Bobby were dead, purposely not going into any more detail than that. He wasn't sure yet how much they should tell Sam about what had really happened in the past year and a half.

Fortunately, Cas picked up on his plan quickly and simply told Sam that while the two had initially died, they had both been quickly restored, along with Dean's health. When he mentioned that Bobby was waiting right outside the door, Sam immediately looked that way expectantly. Dean knew he was waiting for Bobby to come and see him also.

"Hey, Bobby? Do you have a minute to come in here? I think Sam needs to see that you're not dead." Dean figured he had better give Bobby a little push to come into the room, because he didn't think he would on his own, not that Dean could blame him. He had seen the terror in Bobby's eyes when he had arrived just in time to stop Sam. It wasn't something the older man was going to get over for a while.

Bobby did enter the room, but he stopped just inside the door. Dean figured they were lucky he had come that far with Sam actually awake and alert enough to know what was going on. "Hey, Sam. How are you feeling?"

While Bobby had real concern in his voice and on his face, Dean could tell that Sam was confused that the older hunter had stopped well clear of the bed. But he smiled gamely at his surrogate father. "Better now that I see that you're okay!"

"Sam here thought he had killed you and Castiel. And had beaten me half to death. That's the last thing he remembers, right Sam?" Dean tried to put enough subtle emphasis on his words that Bobby would pick up what was going on, but he wasn't sure it had worked. He held his breath, waiting to hear Bobby's response, but Sam jumped in before he could.

"Well, that and trying to stop the Apocalypse. I'm really sorry it didn't work. I thought I had him." Sam's dejection at his perceived failure was heartbreaking. Dean noticed that both Bobby and Castiel looked as touched as he was at Sam's downcast expression.

The three men exchanged meaningful glances, and then Castiel nodded toward Sam. Dean nodded back, clearing his throat. "Sam, you _did_ stop the Apocalypse. Lucifer is back in the cage. You did it." He couldn't keep the pride from his voice, but maybe that was a good thing. Sam needed to know he had done a wonderful thing.

Sam looked at Dean blankly, then his brow wrinkled in confusion. "Then how am I here? I remember trying to jump into the cage, and then Adam . . . I mean Michael showed up to try and stop me. I tried to fall back into the cage anyway, and then I woke up chained to the cot in the panic room." Suddenly he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Dean. "What did you do? You didn't make a deal, did you?" The poor guy looked like he was going to hyperventilate any minute.

Dean shook his head, making a show of rolling his eyes. "No, Sam. I didn't make a deal." He couldn't keep eye contact with his brother while lying to him, so he looked away. He supposed agreeing to become Death for 24 hours to bring Sam's soul back would constitute a deal in the eyes of his pre-law educated brother.

Sam glared at Dean, obviously not believing his story, and Dean suddenly didn't want his brother to think badly of him. "Sam, it's not what you think. I didn't bring you back, although I will admit I did try. What I tried isn't important, but it didn't work. But you're here anyway. Just be glad of that and let it go, okay?" He really hoped his brother would let it drop, and they could move on.

But of course, that wouldn't have been a Sammy thing to do. Sam held his eye contact for a minute, still eyeing him suspiciously. "So if you didn't bring me back, then who did?"

Dean sighed wearily. "It's a long story, Sam, and one I don't think you're ready to hear yet. You need to get some rest and get used to being topside again." He seriously doubted that Sam was ready to hear that Crowley had brought him back for his own nefarious purposes. And wouldn't Sam get a kick out of Dean thinking a word like nefarious?

Sam nodded, seeming to accept this as reasonable. He even changed the subject. "So, do you need to get back to Lisa and Ben now that I'm awake and feeling better?"

Dean's heart sank. Now what was he supposed to do, tell Sam that he wasn't with Lisa and Ben because Sam had let him get turned into a vampire and he had terrorized them when he went to visit?

He was still trying to think of an appropriate response when Sam's eyes narrowed, and he scowled at his brother. "You _did_ go to her like you promised, right?"

"Yes, Sam." Dean's response was curt. He wanted to be angry at Sam for the whole messed up situation. After all, it was Sam's idea for Dean to go to Lisa in the first place. And it had also been Sam . . . well, to be fair it had actually been 'RoboSam' . . . who had gotten him turned by the vampire. "I went to her just like you wanted, and I stayed there for a while. But it's over now."

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam looked like he was going to cry, and Dean cringed. As angry as he still was about the whole thing, he hadn't want to make his newly re-souled brother cry. "What happened?"

Dean had been expecting this question next, but he still didn't have a clue how to respond. "It's . . . it was . . . it just didn't work out." He knew it sounded lame, but he didn't know what else to say.

It apparently hadn't been enough, because Sam looked even more suspicious. "Dean, don't forget I've had twenty-seven years to learn your tells. I know you're hiding something from . . ."

"Twenty-eight." Dean cringed as soon as the word had slipped out. He could feel Bobby and Castiel's eyes on him, probably staring at the idiot that had just blown the whole thing.

"Excuse me?" No matter how polite the words were, Sam sounded anything but when he bit out the words tersely. "What's twenty-eight?"

Dean looked at the other two men for help, but Cas and Bobby were both glaring at him. Defeated, he let his shoulders droop. "You are."

"I am?" Sam looked at him blankly, but then his mind seemed to catch up with the facts. His eyes snapped as he looked at Dean fiercely. "Dean, the last thing I remember, I had just turned twenty-seven. And now you're telling me I'm twenty-eight?" At Dean's hesitant nod, Sam swallowed hard like he didn't want to ask the next question. "Exactly _how_ long was I in the cage?"

Dean cringed. This was the exact thing he did not want to happen. Sam had only been awake for a few minutes, and he was already about to find out some things Dean didn't think he would ever be ready to hear. Crowley was the least of Sam's worries now. Dean did not want to tell him that he had been walking around without a soul for over a year. Somehow he didn't think that Sam would handle that little piece of news too well.

Castiel stepped in suddenly, studying Sam in his usual impassive way. "Sam, I understand that you have a lot of questions, and I promise you that we will answer them for you. But first you need to rest some more. You have . . . been unwell."

Dean looked at Castiel incredulously. Been unwell? Sam had turned into a robotic killer over the past year, and Castiel was going to call that being _unwell_? Apparently Bobby didn't think much of it either, because he huffed in disgust and left the room.

Sam looked up, startled at Bobby's sudden and rather disgruntled disappearance, but then he glanced over at Dean uncertainly and then turned his attention back to Castiel. "Yeah, okay." He obediently stretched out in his bed, turning over on his left side so that he faced away from the two men left standing in the room, and closed his eyes, looking for all the world like he was going to take a nap.

What had just happened? Dean was stunned. Sammy would never just give up without answers to his questions like this. He had been so sure it was his brother, but this just didn't seem right. He shook his head and followed when Castiel motioned him out of the room. When they had reached the hallway, Dean quietly closed the door behind them, and they moved down the hall to where Bobby stood waiting with his arms crossed and fire in his eyes.

"_Unwell_? He knocks me out, ties me to a chair in my own basement and tries to skewer me to complete some spell to keep his soul out, and you call that _unwell_?"

Dean glanced nervously over his shoulder at the closed bedroom door. "Keep your voice down, Bobby. Do you want him to hear you?"

Bobby looked suitably chagrined. "Sorry." Then he turned angrily back to Castiel. "What good is getting more sleep going to do him? Next time he wakes up, we'll be right back where we just left off."

Castiel nodded, unruffled. "Yes. And Sam will be that much stronger, and that much closer to being ready to hear the truth. You cannot keep this from him for long. While I pray he never remembers what is behind the wall, he needs to know where he has been since the last time he remembers. He needs to know not to try to recover those missing memories, or he might . . . scratch at it . . . as you said Death had put it."

Dean nodded reluctantly. He knew Castiel was right. Sam did need to know where he had been for the past year and a half. He needed to know that he couldn't search his memories for the answers he would seek. "You're right, Cas. Let's just let him rest for now, and then I'll . . . " Suddenly he froze, hearing a muffled thud from behind the closed door. And then it hit him. "No, no, no!" He spun on his heel and headed back for the bedroom at a run.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Bobby instantly followed Dean, ready for trouble.

"How stupid can I be?" Dean tried the door knob, and finding it unlocked, threw the door open. "Sam?"

All three men ran back into the room, stopping suddenly. The covers on the bed were draped over the footboard, dangling to the floor, and Sam was gone.

**_TBC . . . _**


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N: Well, I was not expecting this chapter to make it up before the airing of episode 12, but I guess I have a few more days to keep posting before it's officially an AU! Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews, and as always thanks to Cynbad3 for the encouragement, the great beta job and for putting up with a temperamental author! :-)_**

**_Disclaimers in Chapter 1_**

**_Chapter 5_**

Sam was furious. He had no idea what was actually going on, but for some reason the three people who meant the most to him were all lying to him. He had attended a seminar back in his Stanford days about the things people do to give themselves away when lying. Sam had seen all three of the men in his room exhibit these signs, even Castiel. Were angels even _allowed_ to lie? Well, Zachariah didn't count. He meant the good angels. Okay, maybe Cas wasn't actually lying, but he sure wasn't telling the whole truth about something.

On top of that, all three of them were acting weird. Bobby seemed almost to be afraid of him, but that was ridiculous, wasn't it? Sam would never hurt the man he had grown closer to than his own father. Of course there was that whole mess at Stull. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe even though somehow Bobby and Castiel had been restored they were still angry with Sam for not being able to take control sooner. After all, if he had managed to take control in time to prevent killing Dean, why couldn't he have done it earlier?

But that didn't really seem like it could be it either. If that had really been a year ago, wouldn't Bobby have gotten over it by now? And where had Sam been for the past year? Had he been in the cage all that time, or had something happened recently to cause him to lose his memory?

Strangely enough, Castiel wasn't acting afraid or angry with Sam. Instead he had seemed unusually solicitous. Cas had always been more Dean's friend than Sam's, but just now it had seemed that Castiel had been almost protective of him. That was setting off all of Sam's remaining warning signals. Something was really wrong, and it was something to do with what had happened to him before he woke up in the panic room, apparently a year after the last thing he remembered.

And that brought him to Dean. There was just something really off about his brother. He seemed like he was struggling to keep from being emotional, and that just wasn't like Dean at all. Oh, Dean was emotional at times, but only when something horrible had happened to Sam and he had survived it. Sam understood that part, because apparently he had actually averted the apocalypse and ended up in the cage for a while. So he could understand Dean being emotional to a certain extent. But he was also being very secretive and evasive in his answers to Sam's questions, and that just didn't seem normal at all. Dean had been so angry with Sam for keeping secrets from him that it didn't make sense that he was now doing the same thing.

Sam needed to think about this, but he couldn't seem to concentrate with Dean and Castiel standing around watching him and Bobby hovering uncomfortably in the doorway. So when Castiel reminded him he had been unwell (which seemed to annoy Bobby for some reason, as he made a sound of disgust and disappeared back into the hallway) and suggested that he get some more rest, he jumped at the opportunity to get rid of his spectators, and he stretched out on his bed, turning onto his left side. There appeared to be something wrong with his leg, because it was agonizing when the side of his lower leg hit the sheet. He wondered what had happened to it, and if it also had anything to do with his throbbing head. He pulled one arm up and closed his eyes, pretending to fall asleep. He listened quietly as he heard the three men silently leave the room, the door shutting behind them.

As soon as they were gone, Sam sat back up, swaying, and reached up to explore the throbbing pain in his head. He found a partially healed scab at the edge of his hairline, but he had no idea what he could possibly have done to cause either the leg injury or the cut on his head. Maybe the head injury had caused his amnesia? All he knew was that he had not been able to take lying on that leg anymore. The pain had been excruciating and almost impossible to hide. He gingerly tucked his leg up close to his body and studied his bloody pant leg. It was just weird that he had no idea what he had done to himself. How could he have lost a year? And why wouldn't Dean tell him what was going on?

The really strange thing was that Sam had a very strong suspicion that he somehow already knew the answers to all of his questions. He felt that if he could just think a little harder he could figure it out. It almost seemed as though there was something wrong with his brain, something that was keeping him from remembering. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but all that did was make it hurt more.

He was still trying to push past whatever the barrier was in his mind to find his missing memories when he heard Bobby's voice raised excitedly in the hallway. He stood painfully to his feet and limped silently to the door, listening to see if he could catch anything that the older man was saying. He could only catch a word here and there, like _chair_ and _basement_ and _spell,_ and it made no sense. But then he thought about it harder. Was it a spell? Is that why he couldn't remember?

Suddenly he had to get out of the room. He couldn't stand being cooped up in here anymore, not with everyone else treating him with kid gloves. He felt like he was going to suffocate, and he didn't think he could stand it one more minute. But he knew from experience that going out the door was not going to accomplish anything. Dean and Castiel would probably just make him go back to bed, and Bobby would hover and stare some more. So he did something he hadn't done since he was a teenager; he climbed out the window.

It was a little tricky getting across to the tree branch outside the window with only one good leg, but Sam and Dean had both perfected this feat years ago. They had rarely actually gone anywhere, but it had always seemed exciting and kind of rebellious to sneak out the window. Usually they had ended up sitting in the junkyard behind one of the cars, talking and as older teenagers drinking from a bottle they had swiped from Bobby's stash. Both boys had suspected that their father and Bobby had known where they were and what they were doing, but nobody ever said anything, and it had been a way for the boys to blow off steam.

Sam's arms shook as he tried to lower himself through the branches without putting much weight on his left leg, but he made it to the ground without incident and limped unsteadily toward the line of junked cars he could see at the edge of the yard. Finding a comfortable spot, he gingerly eased himself to the ground and rested his back against the side of a rusting station wagon, pulling his knees up to keep pressure off of his sore leg. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes wearily, struggling to think through the sludge that seemed to encompass his brain.

The cold air felt good against his sweaty face, and he relaxed into it. He knew he would have to go in soon because it was too cold to stay out for long, but this was just the reprieve he had needed to think. If only his mind would function well enough to actually do that! It was getting very frustrating, because every time he thought he might be heading toward remembering something, his mind would suddenly get fuzzier. He wasn't really sure exactly when, but at some point his mind just gave up and he drifted off to sleep.

He surfaced briefly from his slumber to find a blanket wrapped around him and a pillow at his back. He opened one eye, looking to the side and was unsurprised to see his brother sitting patiently beside him. He was only surprised it had taken Dean as long as it had to find him. Maybe it was the open space around them, or maybe he had finally gotten enough sleep to be more objective about things, but he wasn't upset that Dean had tracked him down. He knew he would have done the same if the situations had been reversed, so he could hardly fault Dean for it.

"I'm sorry," he croaked.

Dean shrugged, patting Sam on his good leg. "Don't worry about it, Sam. Do you feel better out here?"

Sam nodded, relieved that his brother understood.

"Then go back to sleep. We can talk after." Dean leaned back against the car beside him, getting comfortable. He closed his own eyes. "Just rest and stop thinking so hard. We'll figure it all out later."

Sam watched him for a few minutes, relaxing completely when he could tell Dean had fallen asleep. He guessed that his brother must not have slept much lately either. Yawning widely, he closed his eye again and slowly drifted back to sleep, warm and comfortable, and content with the knowledge that his brother was there with him.

**_TBC . . ._**


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with me on this! Your response has overwhelmed me! A special thanks to those who have taken the time to review, set on alert or mark as a favorite. Your encouragement had definitely contributed to my ability to keep posting so quickly. And of course, a big thanks to Cynbad3 for the quick beta and for keeping me focused._**

**_Disclaimer in chapter 1_**

**_Chapter 6_**

Dean's first reaction had been anger and hurt. How could Sam do this to him again? It seemed like every time he turned around Sam was abandoning him or running away. About the same time they had heard the thud from the bedroom, it had dawned on him what had been bothering him about Sam rolling over and going to sleep so easily. Of course, first there was the fact that he _had_ gone easily. Dean had chalked that up to really feeling lousy and actually wanting rest so he could feel better, but one thing that he could always count on (soul or no) was Sam's obstinacy. He would normally have fought tooth and nail to stay awake and figure out what was going on. But the second thing that hit him was that Sam had rolled over onto his _left_ side. The side with the torn-up leg. There was no way he would have stayed in that position because it was comfortable. He had been deliberately trying to get rid of them by faking sleep.

When they rushed into the room to find it empty, Dean allowed his panic and anger to take over for a minute, but then he started to think rationally again. Sam was not in very good shape, and he had no idea what was going on. Where would he have gone? The cold breeze from the open window made it fairly obvious _how_ he had gotten out, but the _where _might be a little more difficult to pinpoint.

Bobby and Castiel stood back silently, obviously waiting for Dean to take the lead on the search. Dean took a deep breath and faced them. "Okay, let's think about this for a minute. He wanted to get out, and he went out the window to do it so we wouldn't catch him."

He leaned warily out the window, hoping he wasn't going to find Sam's crumpled body on the ground beneath the tree. He heaved a sigh of relief when there was nothing down there but grass.

"Where would he have gone?" Castiel looked confused. "We were taking good care of him here. Why would he have left?"

Suddenly a light went on in Dean's head. "That was the problem."

Castiel still looked clueless, but Bobby nodded ruefully. "We were smothering him with attention when he just wanted to be alone and think."

Dean nodded, now not feeling quite so hurt and angry. Of course Sam would want to spend some time by himself. His emotional little brother always needed to "process" things. It just hadn't occurred to Dean because Sam hadn't actually _been_ his emo little brother for a long time. Now that he was back, Dean was going to have to get used to things getting back to the way they used to be.

He leaned a hand on the windowsill and leaned out as far as he could without falling. Scanning left and right, he was hoping Sam was still within eyesight, but unfortunately there was nothing in view but trees, grass and the edge of the junkyard.

He straightened, suddenly knowing where Sam was. He turned to Bobby, who looked like he had figured it out, too. "The junkyard." They spoke the words simultaneously.

Castiel still looked confused, but seemed content to let the other two men determine what their plan of action would be. Dean grabbed the pillow and a couple of blankets off the bed and headed for the door.

"Do you want us to come with you?" Castiel wasn't sure what was going on, but he was ready to help however he could.

Dean shook his head. "No, I got it. I'll call you if I need you, but I think Sam needs to be alone for now. I'll just make sure he's warm enough."

He galloped down the stairs, taking two at a time, and headed out the back door of Bobby's house, headed for the cars he could see. He didn't think Sam would have wandered too far into the lot, so he stayed near the edges, checking each car as he went. He stopped with a sigh of relief at the sight of Sam leaning against the side of an old station wagon, knees pulled up close. His head was back against the car door, and he was sound asleep. He looked almost relaxed, but he also looked very cold.

Dean eased himself down to the ground beside his sleeping brother and carefully slid the pillow in behind Sam's back. Sam squirmed a little, seeming to feel the additional comfort, but didn't waken. Dean grinned nostalgically. Now this brought back memories. Sam as a young boy would run non-stop until he would run out of steam, and then he just fell asleep wherever he happened to be. Dean had many times had to cover his slumbering brother with a blanket in odd places in the house. He expertly draped the thickest blanket over Sam's torso and arms, gently tucking it between his brother and the car to keep out any chilly drafts.

He shook out the other blanket and laid it across Sam's lap, pausing to check the status of the injured leg. He and Bobby had cleaned the wound while Sam was asleep, but it still looked incredibly painful, an angry red around the edges of the cut. Dean hoped it wasn't on the way to being infected. That was all they needed. Satisfied, he spread the blanket down across Sam's legs and tucked it under his feet, which sported damp socks, but no shoes. The older man shook his head. Sam had really wanted to get out, if he had attempted his jailbreak in January in his socks.

With Sam completely covered with the blankets, Dean crossed his own arms across his chest, pulling his jacket tight in an attempt to keep out the chilled air. He should have brought a third blanket for himself. He leaned back against the fender of the station wagon and prepared to wait for Sam to wake up.

It actually didn't take very long, and his brother stirred, clutching at the blankets in an effort to keep his body heat in his little cocoon. He opened one eye to look solemnly at Dean, not seeming very surprised to see him sitting there. Dean supposed that he was rather predictable when it came to Sammy. At least Sam didn't seem too upset that he was there.

"I'm sorry." Sam's voice came out as a mournful croak.

Dean almost laughed and made a joke about it, but he decided that Sam was probably not yet in the mood for joking. Instead he shrugged nonchalantly, patting Sam on his good leg. "Don't worry about it, Sam." He paused for a few seconds, studying his brother's sleepy face. "Do you feel better out here?" Sam nodded, looking highly relieved. Dean had thought as much, considering how peacefully Sam had been sleeping when he had found him. "Then go back to sleep. We can talk after."

He knew that Sam was watching him, so he deliberately relaxed against the car and closed his eyes, hoping that if he was relaxed and ignoring his brother that Sam would be able to go back to sleep. "Just rest and stop thinking so hard. We'll figure it all out later."

He could almost feel Sam's eyes on him, so he relaxed even more. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to catch a few winks himself.

"Dean?" The whispered voice woke him with a start.

He opened his eyes and looked up at Bobby and Cas standing beside him, both faces creased with concern. He looked over quickly to see if Sam was okay, and his younger brother was still sound asleep, head slumped over to the side and his hair draped across one eye. Dean considered him critically. He really did look much younger when he was asleep. Or maybe Sam had just been looking older because he had gotten so buff, or maybe it was because of having been without a soul, or . . .

"Dean, are you with me?"

He looked up with a start. Bobby had dropped down to his haunches beside him, studying his features anxiously. Dean wondered how long his friend had been trying to attract his attention. He nodded groggily, yawning as he shivered in his coat.

"We're going to move you boys inside. Castiel will take care of it. It's too cold for you to stay out here anymore."

Castiel stepped forward, eyeing Dean sympathetically. "I promise to do my best not to wake him, Dean. But staying out here for very long is not good for either of you."

Dean was still groggy, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes, but even so he was startled when the scenery suddenly changed, and he found himself on his bed in the guest room. Sam had appeared on the other bed, and Dean watched closely as Bobby and Castiel straightened Sam's bent limbs and covered him more securely with the blanket. Sam didn't even move, so Dean decided to follow his brother's example and closed his eyes, falling instantly back to sleep.

**_TBC..._**


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N: Many thanks to Cynbad3, who not only betaed this chapter despite a major headache, but without whose encouragement I wouldn't have written it at all. Thanks! And thank you to all of you are still overwhelming me by continuing to read, review, alert and set as favorites. You are the best! I will say that this chapter was not what I had originally planned for chapter 7, but this part of the story insisted on being told, so here it is._**

**_Disclaimer in chapter 1_**

**_Chapter 7_**

Bobby sat silently at his desk, head in his hands. Sam and Dean were both still sleeping upstairs, and Castiel had zapped off on some kind of urgent, top secret angel business. With no hunts going and nobody to take care of or even to talk to, he had nothing but time to think. And that was the last thing he wanted to do right now. He stood up abruptly and headed for the stairs. It had been a little while since he had last checked; maybe one of the boys had woken up. That gave him pause for a few seconds, and then he rephrased his idea – maybe _Dean_ had woken up. Sam awake without Dean around as a buffer wasn't really what he was looking for at the moment.

The hunter shook his head ruefully. Who would have ever thought that he would be acting like a frightened girl around the youngest Winchester. He had known Sam since he was a little boy, wide-eyed and innocent, calling him Uncle Bobby and hanging on his every word as if it must be the gospel truth. Little Sammy had followed him around the house and the junkyard, his busy mind never seeming to run out of questions.

Bobby had known why, and twenty-some years later it still burned him. John had loved Sammy, but the boy had been too much like his father. It had been Bobby's experience that in many cases, the things that annoyed a person about other people were often present in their own lives, but they were too blind to see it. This was especially true of John Winchester. He had never had any patience with Sam's thirst for knowledge, the endless questions, and especially not for his strength of will. The irony was Bobby could see all of those traits in John, too.

The strength of will was obvious to anyone who had spent more than five minutes in the same room with the man. If he had lived to be an old man, Bobby had no doubt he would have ended up as a cantankerous old coot. The thirst for knowledge and endless questions were not quite as apparent to a casual acquaintance, but Bobby had trained John as a young hunter. He remembered the younger man's constant questioning of everything he had been told, wanting to know why this worked and that didn't, how this monster came into being, and most of all why had Mary had to die. John had worked tirelessly to try to uncover the answers as long as Bobby had known him. No, Sam hadn't fallen far from the Winchester tree.

So because John couldn't figure out how to relate to Sam, more often than not he left his youngest son out, spending his time with the son he did know how to relate to. It was no secret why John had been able to figure Dean out. From what little the man had said about his deceased wife, usually when falling-down drunk, Dean was just like her. Of course John knew how to relate to him. So he spent his time between hunts teaching Dean how to be the best hunter he could be and ignoring Sam, for the most part.

Sam had initially tried to get involved with his father and brother, but he had seemed to figure out the lay of the land early on, and instead he had taken to following Bobby around instead. Bobby had enjoyed having the little boy follow him around, but he felt for the kid, and he had even given Sam a Christmas gift to give his father the winter he was eight. He knew nobody had told the youngest son about the supernatural, but Bobby had seen Sam's active mind starting to question things and he knew it wouldn't be long before he put it together. He had wanted Sam to have a great gift for John that year, one that had value to a hunter. He had thought maybe John would finally fill his son in on what was really going on.

Sam had figured things out all right, but the amulet had gone to Dean, and it had been Dean himself who had told his little brother what was what. John had missed the boat yet again. Bobby had given up after that, just trying to be there for the boy. When John had told Sam not to come back if he went to college, that had been the end of Bobby's friendship with the man. He had run John off with a shotgun, letting him know he wouldn't be welcome in his home anymore. He had not had any contact with the family again until right before John's passing, and then he had been the closest thing to a father either of the boys had left.

Bobby leaned up against the wall, shaking his head. Since when did he get all philosophical? He really was starting to act like a girl. He eased the door open a crack and peered inside. The room was dark, the window closed and latched, and the shades drawn. Sam was curled onto his side, his _righ_t side this time, his injured left leg stretched out across the bed.

He looked over at the other bed. Dean must have been wiped out, because he never even moved. He was sprawled on his side facing his brother, one hand tucked under his pillow, where Bobby knew he kept an extremely sharp hunting knife. Even in his sleep, Dean was looking out for his brother. Bobby took a few steps into the room, switching his gaze back to the younger of the two brothers.

Sam moved restlessly, and Bobby took a step back, his heart pounding. This was ridiculous. He knew in his head that Sam was back to normal now, no more 'RoboSam', as Dean had called him. But his heart was another matter. Every time he looked at the boy who had been like a son to him, he could see that massive arm swinging a knife down to end Bobby's life. The fact that apparently it was _because_ he had been like a son to him that Sam had chosen him to be his sacrifice was not comforting in the least. If Dean had been a few seconds later, Bobby would have been gone, and it would have been the second time he faced death at the hands of the same man.

Oh, he knew that the first time it had not been Sam that had done the killing; he had just been the host. But Sam's face, cold and sneering, had been the last thing he had seen before he died. And this time had not really been Sam either. Not the true Sam. That part had been busy elsewhere being tortured and tormented. And now that he was back, Bobby really wanted to just forget all that had happened and welcome his almost-son back from a fate literally worse than death. But he couldn't even force himself to get near the boy, at least not while he was awake.

He deliberately took another step toward Sam's bed. This was ridiculous. Surely he could get past this . . . this phobia he had. He took another step and studied Sam's face closely. The Sam he had been dealing with for almost a year and a half had not looked this peaceful and innocent even in sleep. He knew this was his Sam, but as soon as Sam's eyes opened, he lost sight of that. He stepped closer yet and leaned in to check on the younger man.

Sam shifted and stretched, flipping back to his back. His eyelids fluttered as he started to wake, shifting back onto his side. By the time he was awake enough to know what was going on, Bobby was gone.

_**TBC . . .**_


	8. Chapter 8

**_A/N: Thanks to Cynbad3 for a very speedy beta and lots of encouragement today! And thanks to everyone reading, reviewing, etc. You all continue to amaze me. This is the last chapter written before the big reveal tonight, and before it officially becomes AU. I would like to say that I am not going to watch the episode until this is done so that the events unfolding there will not influence future chapters of this story. I would like to say that, but I am just not that disciplined! 29 minutes and counting. :-)_**

**_Disclaimer in chapter 1_**

**_Chapter 8 _**

Sam slowly drifted to the surface after yet another long sleep, stretching languorously. He really wasn't in a hurry to wake up. For some reason, sleeping felt exceptionally good to him, and he also had a feeling that something bad was waiting for him when he woke up completely. He waited to sink back into a deeper sleep, but someone moved in the room, bringing him the rest of the way back to consciousness. He opened his eyes to see who was there, but there was only Dean sleeping in the next bed. He frowned; he was sure someone had been moving around. Who had been in the room?

He sat up slowly, cataloguing his aches and pains. Each time he woke up, he felt a little better. His chest didn't hurt as much, and the aches plaguing his whole body seemed to be dissipating. Now it was mostly his throbbing head and the cut on his leg that reminded him of its presence every time he moved. He still had no idea how either injury had happened, but he was going to make Dean tell him once his brother woke up.

He had been confused when he woke up before, but he was feeling a little more clearheaded now. He wasn't sure how he had gotten from the junkyard to the bedroom, but he was pretty sure he had seen Castiel earlier, so he guessed that the angel must have been involved somehow. Either that or he had been so out of it that Dean and Bobby had been able to carry him back to the house and up the stairs to the bedroom. Considering the options, his bet was on the angel.

He rolled completely over onto his side and studied his brother. Whatever had happened had affected Dean drastically. Even asleep, he looked tired and pale. Sam had noticed down in the panic room that he seemed older, and that made sense if somehow an entire year had gone by, particularly a year that apparently had involved there being only one Winchester brother.

Sam had not had any illusions about how Dean would get by without him. He had known when he made his brother promise to go to Lisa that having a new family would never make up for losing his real one. He knew how he had handled losing Dean, even for four months, and there had been no doubt in his mind that Dean would take losing his little brother equally as hard, if not harder. Sam knew Dean too well to have thought he would actually be happy with Lisa and Ben, but he had thought that having them in his life might at least give his brother some purpose in life, a reason to get up in the morning.

He sat up slowly, still struggling with a funny feeling in his head. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was really annoying. He brushed a hand through his hair, feeling for any other bumps or bruises, but froze when he realized how long his hair actually was. That was weird. Dean had always teased him about his long hair, but he didn't remember ever letting it get this long. He stood slowly, easing from the room carefully so he didn't wake Dean. He limped down the hall to the bathroom and turned on the light over the sink, meeting the eyes of his reflection in the mirror.

For several long minutes, Sam stared in amazement at the slack-jawed man staring back at him. This is what he looked like now? He tentatively poked at his left bicep, and then looked down at himself. This was unbelievable. How had he gotten this big? Hadn't he just gotten back from the cage? He could understand his hair getting longer while he was gone, but how had he managed to build his muscles up like this? He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, letting it pool to the floor. He looked like a body builder, or maybe a lumberjack.

A vague image of him doing pull-ups in a dingy hotel room popped into his head, accompanied by a searing pain, and he shuddered. What was that? Had that been a vision, a dream or a memory? He wasn't sure, but he really needed to talk to Dean as soon as possible. He wished he dared to wake his brother up, but he knew that Dean needed the sleep. He settled for taking a shower and shaving in the meantime to keep himself busy.

His shower shouldn't have taken as long as it did, but he kept finding himself standing there thinking about all of the things he didn't understand. Every time he reached for something, his eyes were drawn to the sculpted muscles on his arms, and he wondered again how he could have gotten that big in the cage. He looked like he had joined a gym instead.

He was brought back from his musings by thunderous pounding on the door, Dean's voice harshly demanding that he tell him if he was okay. He sighed, turning off the water that was actually starting to cool anyway and wrapped a towel around his waist. Catching sight of his muscular chest in the mirror, he grabbed a second towel and draped it across his shoulders, holding it together across his chest self-consciously. This was going to take some getting used to.

He pulled the door open, startling Dean, who had his fist raised to pound some more. Sam couldn't help but grin when Dean dropped his fist sheepishly. His older brother looked him over quickly, and Sam was sure the sharp eyes didn't miss the heightened color in his cheeks or the way his fingers clenched the towel, holding it over as much of himself as possible.

Dean's eyes softened. "Get dressed. We need to talk." He turned and headed for the stairs, glancing back over his shoulder. "I'll be down in the kitchen."

Sam realized he had been so preoccupied with his new bulk that he hadn't even gotten to shaving yet, so he took care of that quickly. Scooping up his pile of dirty clothes, he headed back to the bedroom to look for clean ones. He wondered idly if he even owned anything that would fit. If not, he would have to put these clothes back on. It wouldn't be the first time he had worn dirty clothes.

When he entered the room, a rush of warmth rushed through him, and this time not from embarrassment. Dean had laid a black t-shirt, a green plaid flannel shirt and a pair of gray sweats on his bed, along with a pair of white socks. His brother had apparently thought of everything. When Sam picked up the t-shirt, he discovered a neat pile of medical supplies and a pair of boxers nestled beneath it.

He quickly discarded the towels, donning the boxers and the shirt, surprised to find both items fit him perfectly. The sweats he recognized. The brothers had kept them around for years to be worn only when the wearer was sporting a leg injury, and jeans would be too harsh against cut or bruised appendages. They were a little short on Sam and a little long on Dean, but they served their purpose well. He sat down on the edge of his bed and carefully cleaned and re-bandaged the long shallow cut he found. It still appeared a little red and inflamed around the edges, but he didn't think it was infected. Gently pulling the sweats up over the bandage and covering his feet with the socks, Sam headed for the stairs. It was time to find out what was going on.

In the kitchen, he found Dean sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of beer, staring thoughtfully out the window. Bobby was nowhere to be found. A second bottle was sitting invitingly at a spot across the table from Dean. He sat down quietly and took a swig from his bottle. Studying Dean for a few minutes in silence, he came to the conclusion that he was going to have to initiate the conversation. He cleared his throat nervously.

"So what's going on, Dean?"

Dean's flinch was barely noticeable, but Sam spotted it anyway. His brother didn't want to tell him something, and he was afraid to find out what it was. Dean sighed and finally looked up at him. "What do you remember?"

Sam shrugged. "I told you what I remember. I remember killing Bobby and Castiel, almost killing you, and then trying to jump into the cage."

Dean nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. I remember that, too."

Knowing how he still had nightmares about the hellhounds, Sam guessed that Dean would probably always remember the moment his brother had jumped as if it had happened five minutes ago. He nodded sympathetically.

"You were gone, Cas fixed everybody, and we all went our separate ways. Cas is the head honcho now that Michael's gone, so he's been keeping really busy with angel stuff. Bobby went back to hunting, and I went to Lisa's. I didn't hear anything from Cas, but Bobby and I kept in contact. Things with Lisa were . . . not exactly great, but we were getting by, and at least they were happy I was there. I got a job working construction, put the Impala in storage and tried to get on with life after the apocalypse."

Sam could almost see the quotation marks around the last words. He knew that meant Dean hadn't gotten on with his life. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, still annoyed by that weird feeling in his head, but trying to ignore it.

"Then I realized you had been gone for a year . . . a _year_, Sam. I knew you were never coming back. I had tried everything I knew how to, called everybody that I thought might be able to help." Dean stopped at Sam's pained expression. "Don't look at me like that. I know I promised you I wouldn't try, but did you really expect me to keep that promise?"

"No." Sam would have liked to have said yes, but he knew his brother, and he also knew what he had tried when Dean had been gone. "I wanted you to, but I knew you wouldn't."

Dean nodded, seeming satisfied with that answer. "So when I realized you had been gone a year, I just gave up. If I hadn't found a way in 12 months, I was never going to find it. And then one day you just showed up."

Sam leaned forward, heart pounding. Now they were getting somewhere. "I just showed up? Just like that? You didn't have to do anything to get me out?"

Dean shook his head, seeming disturbed about something. "No, nothing I tried worked. You just appeared, kept me from being taken out by a djinn, and took me home with you."

Sam's mind was furiously processing this information, and his headache ramped up a notch. "Took you home with me? I was living somewhere else?"

Dean nodded morosely. "You were staying with a bunch of hunters that were related to Mom. Most of them are gone now, but our grandfather is still around somewhere."

"Most of them are gone? Dean, how long have I been back?" Sam's anxiety was growing, but he was trying to keep as calm as possible. Their grandfather? Hadn't he died before Dean was even born? He wanted to ask, but he was afraid he really didn't want to know the answer. He was afraid if he freaked out over this new information he was getting that Dean would stop telling him things until he was stronger. He needed to know _now._

"A while," Dean said vaguely. "Don't worry about that now. So you took me home with you and wanted me to help you and our 'family' with some hunts. I decided to stay with Lisa and Ben instead, because I thought they were in danger."

Dean looked guilty when he said this, and Sam wondered what he felt guilty about; not staying with Sam, or letting something happen to Lisa and Ben. "Are they okay? They're not dead, are they?"

The sudden blaze of pain through Sam's head took him off guard, and this time he got a glimpse of Dean in an alley, grappling with another figure. To his growing horror, he realized that the figure Dean was struggling with had fangs, and while he stood by and watched, the vampire sank them into Dean's flesh.

"No!" Sam stood up suddenly, swaying with the rush of blood to his aching head. The flash of pain was gone, but he thought he was going to be sick. He gripped the chair back tightly to keep upright.

"Sammy? Are you okay?" Dean stood up too, rounding the table to grasp Sam's arm, helping to steady him. "What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head, relaxing a little as the pain dissipated, but then he remembered the images he had seen. "Dean, I think my visions are back! This is the second time it's happened today."

Dean looked suddenly tense. "Really? What did you see?"

Sam wasn't sure of the significance of the first vision. Him working out in an old hotel room wasn't that out of the ordinary. Maybe he had just been trying to keep his new physique from getting flabby. He shrugged. "The first one was kind of obscure. It was just me doing pull-ups in a hotel room. I didn't get much. But this one was bad. Dean, we need to stay away from hunts involving vampires. One caught you, and it was either killing you or turning you, I'm not sure. We need to be careful."

Dean winced. "Uh, Sam. Actually, that's not a vision you're seeing." He licked his lips nervously but met Sam's eyes with a look of determination. "I think you're seeing memories."

Sam pulled back from Dean in confusion. How could that possibly be a memory? Dean was . . . and he didn't . . . Suddenly, his sharp mind put it all together. The secrecy, Dean being so pale and tired looking all of the time. "Dean, are you telling me that . . . " He could barely even get the words out. "Are you telling me you were turned? Are you a vampire?"

_**TBC . . .**_


	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N: As always, thanks to Cynbad3 for being my chief encourager and beta. Thanks to all of you for sticking with me, even though we're now AU. I loved the episode, but fortunately it was different enough from our story here that it shouldn't interfere. _**

**_Disclaimer in chapter 1_**

**_Chapter 9_**

Dean woke abruptly from his impromptu afternoon nap to find Bobby standing over Sam's bed, watching him anxiously, but then Sam turned over restlessly and Bobby fled the room, not even noticing that Dean was watching. He turned his attention back to his brother. For some reason, once he was sure Sam was actually waking up, he pretended he was asleep. He wasn't quite ready to have that talk yet. He could feel Sam's gaze on him, but had to fight to keep still when he heard his brother get up suddenly and leave the room. As soon as Sam was gone he sat up and listened to hear where the hurried footsteps ended.

Oh. The bathroom. That made sense. It had been a ridiculously long time since Sam had visited one of those. Dean winced even thinking about that. He settled back and closed his eyes, ready to get some more rest until the younger man returned. But Sam didn't come back, and after several minutes of waiting, Dean started to get nervous. Finally he got up and retraced Sam's steps to the bathroom, slightly relieved to hear the shower running. That made sense, too. But when he had been standing there in the hallway for fifteen minutes and it was _still_ running, his uneasiness increased rapidly.

He paced the hallway outside the door for a few more minutes and then finally knocked. "Sam? Are you okay in there?" The shower continued to run, and there was no response to his question.

Maybe he hadn't knocked hard enough. Or maybe Sam was just ignoring him. He stood there for another minute, undecided on what to do next. When the shower continued to run, Sam showing no signs of being done soon, he couldn't take it anymore. Raising his fist, he pounded on the door much harder than before.

"Sam! Are you okay? Answer me!" There was no way Sam could miss his question this time since he had practically shouted it. He was mildly surprised that Bobby didn't come charging up the steps to see what was going on.

The shower stopped abruptly, and he could hear Sam moving around in there, but he still didn't respond, and the door stayed closed. Dean tried to be patient, but when it had been five minutes with no acknowledgement, he raised his fist to pound on the door again. Just as he did, the door opened, releasing a rush of warmth and steam.

He lowered his fist sheepishly, encouraged when Sam grinned at him. But the younger man was holding a spare towel closed across his upper body, looking uncomfortable. Huh. Dean hadn't even thought of what Sam was going to think of his new appearance. His hair was longer than he would remember, and it was apparent that his brother wasn't feeling comfortable with his new bulk yet. He wondered suddenly what other surprises waited for Sam that they hadn't thought of.

"Get dressed. We need to talk." He threw his brother one last sympathetic glance and headed toward the stairs. "I'll be down in the kitchen."

He heard the door close again, presumably for Sam to continue getting dressed, although now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure his brother had taken any clean clothes with him to the bathroom. He made a quick detour to the bedroom to dig some clothes out of Sam's duffel. He laid out a worn black t-shirt and one of Sam's favorite flannel shirts, but after a moment's thought he replaced the jeans he had selected for the gray sweat pants the two brothers shared when dealing with leg injuries. The jeans would probably be too rough on his cut leg.

Satisfied with his selections, he resumed his trip down to the kitchen, satisfied when he heard the bathroom door open again. Sam should be down soon.

Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a beer, and he looked up casually when Dean entered the room. "How's your brother?"

Dean studied him shrewdly. Bobby was good. If he hadn't seen the older man in their room himself, he would never have known. Bobby looked like he had been established here for a while. He had a newspaper spread out across the table and was holding a black pen in one hand like he had just been circling possible hunts in the news.

Dean did know better, though, and it concerned him that Bobby wasn't even being honest with him about how he was feeling. He shrugged and dropped down into the chair across from the older hunter. "He's okay, I guess. I think he just discovered that he looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger with long hair, and he seems a little freaked out, but he'll be okay." He hoped he sounded more positive than he felt. "He's getting dressed and then he'll be down."

Bobby nodded, looking down at his bottle. "Do you need me here when you talk to him?" He sounded a little hesitant. "I was wondering because I have a car that I need to get done, and I was thinking I should be getting back to it as soon as I can."

Dean felt like the bottom was dropping out of his world. Bobby had always been there for the two brothers, even when he didn't have to be. If he was going to leave this whole explanation to Dean with not even an assist, the situation must be even worse than he had thought. He nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, sure, Bobby. I got this. You go ahead and get some work done. I know things have been a little up in the air for the past couple of days."

Bobby nodded gratefully and stood up, taking his beer with him. Halfway to the door, he stopped, back still turned to Dean. "If you do need me . . . for anything . . . you know I'm there, right?"

Dean nodded, and then remembered that Bobby didn't really have eyes in the back of his head, contrary to what the boys had thought as children. "Yeah, I know. We _both_ know. You go do what you have to do. It's going to be fine."

Bobby continued out of the room, and Dean thought it was interesting that not thirty seconds later he heard Sam at the top of the stairs. He stood up and crossed to the refrigerator, pulling out two fresh bottles. Sitting down in the seat Bobby had just vacated, he waited for his brother.

Sam's footsteps were slow coming down the stairs, and Dean could tell he was definitely favoring the left leg, but he entered the kitchen and sat down across from his brother, picking up his beer and taking a long drink. Dean figured he probably needed the courage that would come from the bottle before their talk, so he wasn't overly surprised. He watched Sam for a moment, studying the wary expression on his brother's face.

Finally Sam made the first move, apparently uncomfortable with the silence, or else impatient to find out what he had missed, or maybe even both. "So what's going on, Dean?"

Dean had been expecting the question, in some ways even welcoming it so they could get this dreaded talk out of the way, but he still couldn't completely prevent the flinch when he heard it. He took a deep breath, going for calm. "What do you remember?"

Sam shrugged sullenly, picking at the label on his beer. He seemed almost offended that Dean had even asked. "I told you what I remember. I remember killing Bobby and Castiel, almost killing you, and then trying to jump into the cage."

The blunt words brought back horrific memories. The anguish of losing first Castiel and then Bobby; the agony that had exploded throughout his body as he lay on the hood of the Impala, barely able to see past blood and swollen flesh; but worst of all, the devastating finality when he looked at Sam and actually saw his brother looking back. _"It's okay, Dean. It's going to be okay. I've got him." _

Those words still haunted Dean's worst nightmares. He had known at that moment that it was all over. The world was safe, but nothing would ever be right again. And now eighteen months later here was Sam sitting across the table looking at him. He swallowed hard, choking back unwanted emotion. "Yeah. I remember that, too."

Sam nodded, appearing sympathetic. Dean guessed that he was probably remembering his own experience with losing his brother more than three years earlier. He decided it was time to get the show on the road. Taking a deep breath, he began to simply tell his story.

"You were gone, Cas fixed everybody, and we all went our separate ways. Cas is the head honcho now that Michael's gone, so he's been keeping really busy with angel stuff. Bobby went back to hunting, and I went to Lisa's. I didn't hear anything from Cas, but Bobby and I kept in contact. Things with Lisa were . . . not exactly great, but we were getting by, and at least they were happy I was there. I got a job working construction, put the Impala in storage and tried to get on with life after the apocalypse."

The last phrase of his sentence came out more bitterly than he intended, and he could tell that Sam noticed. He rushed on before his brother could say anything. "Then I realized you had been gone for a year . . . a _year_, Sam. I knew you were never coming back. I had tried everything I knew how to, called everybody that I thought might be able to help."

The more he spoke, the more worked up he was getting. This was not what he had intended to say, and he really didn't want to talk about it. Sam looked at him accusingly, and he forged on angrily. "Don't look at me like that. I know I promised you I wouldn't try, but did you really expect me to keep that promise?"

Sam hesitated a moment, and then spoke sadly. "No. I wanted you to, but I knew you wouldn't."

Dean nodded, realizing Sam meant that. He hadn't seriously expected his brother to just let him go, but he had felt compelled to try. Dean understood that. He sighed. The next part of the story was going to be hard to admit. "So when I realized you had been gone a year, I just gave up. If I hadn't found a way in 12 months, I was never going to find it." His eyes gleamed with unshed tears, but he blinked them back impatiently. "And then one day you just showed up."

Sam didn't react right away, looking confused. And then he looked at Dean, shock darkening his eyes. "I just showed up? Just like that? You didn't have to do anything to get me out?"

Dean shook his head ruefully. He wished he had been responsible for getting Sam out. So much would have turned out differently. Hopefully he would have figured out a way to get his brother out with all of his vital parts, for instance, including his soul. How different would the past year and a half been if that had been the case? "No, nothing I tried worked. You just appeared, kept me from being taken out by a djinn, and took me home with you."

Sam was looking more and more confused and anxious. "Took you home with me? I was living somewhere else?"

Dean was seriously starting to wonder if they should continue this discussion yet. Sam wasn't ready to hear what he had to say. But he continued reluctantly, knowing Sam would never let it rest. "You were staying with a bunch of hunters that were related to Mom. Most of them are gone now, but our grandfather is still around somewhere."

Sam looked completely bewildered by the mention of Samuel, but he picked up on the first part of the sentence instead. "Most of them are gone? Dean, how long have I been back?"

Sam's voice was rising, and Dean winced. "Don't worry about that now. So you took me home with you and wanted me to help you and our 'family' with some hunts. I decided to stay with Lisa and Ben instead, because I thought they were in danger."

He wasn't totally surprised by the next question. It was Sammy, pure and simple. "Are they okay? They're not dead, are they?"

What happened next _was_ a surprise, and not in a good way. Sam's face want lax, as though he had suddenly gone somewhere else. Dean hadn't seen that look in a long time, but if he didn't know better he would say that Sam might be having a vision. Then his brother stood up suddenly, swaying as he grasped his head. "No!"

Dean lurched to his feet and grasped Sam's arm to steady him as his brother gripped the back of his chair tightly to keep his balance. "Sammy? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Sam looked shaken, and he replied with a tone of voice Dean hadn't heard in a long time. "Dean, I think my visions are back! This is the second time it's happened today."

That was the last thing Dean was expecting to have to deal with today, and he guessed he probably came across as helpless as he felt. "Really? What did you see?" This wasn't fair. How could he possibly deal with the fallout of Sam's visions when he was too busy being terrified that the wall would come down?

Sam sounded bewildered. "The first one was kind of obscure. It was just me doing pull-ups in a hotel room. I didn't get much. But this one was bad. Dean, we need to stay away from hunts involving vampires. One caught you, and it was either killing you or turning you, I'm not sure. We need to be careful."

No! This was almost worse than visions. If Sam was remembering flashes of what RoboSam had done, how long would it be before he started to remember more? He wasn't sure what to say. "Uh, Sam. Actually, that's not a vision you're seeing." He paused for a minute, searching carefully for the correct words. "I think you're seeing memories."

Sam pulled back in confusion, and Dean could actually see his brother's freaky brain trying to put it all together. When the younger man paled, he thought he had, but when Sam finally spoke, it took him a minute to process what his brother had just asked. "Dean, are you telling me that . . . Are you telling me you were turned? Are you a vampire?"

_What?_ The question caught Dean off-guard, although it shouldn't have, because he knew his brother. He knew how his quick mind put things together in the way they made the most sense, and with the information Sam had, this was apparently what made the most sense. He shook his head, studying his brother with concern. Sam really didn't need to get this upset right now. "No, Sam. I'm fine." He paused, wishing he could stop there, but knowing he needed to give his brother more information than that. "Yes, I did get turned, but turns out there's a cure. Grandpa Campbell knew all about it, and I'm fine."

He watched Sam closely, waiting for him to calm himself. How had things progressed to this point so quickly? Maybe it was time to stop the Q and A for today, or at least until his brother had some food and some more rest. He just hoped he would be able to convince Sam of that. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sam wasn't listening anymore.

"Wow that was convenient. Did we know that before we went into the hunt? Was that how it happened? Did we get careless because we knew we could fix it if anything happened?" Sam's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Dean's heart sank to somewhere down around his feet. Sam had no idea that he had deliberately let Dean get turned, and he was already upset. When he found that part out, he was going to be devastated. "I think we've had enough for now. Why don't we stop and get something to eat? It's been a long time since you ate anything."

Sam shook his head, that stubborn look that Dean knew and dreaded appearing on his face. "I'm not hungry. Dean, I need to understand what I missed. The not knowing is driving me crazy."

Dean sighed and nodded. He knew Sam, and his brother was never going to let this go until he knew everything. The trick was going to be making Sam _think_ he knew everything and letting the matter drop until Sam was stronger. "Yes, that is what happened, Sam. We got careless and I almost paid for it. But we did know that Samuel could fix it, or it would never have happened. I'm just sorry you had to remember that. It seemed like a really traumatic experience for you when it happened."

The lie made Dean sick. He could still remember the anticipation and excitement that twisted his brother's features as he watched him get turned, the evil smirk on his face. It still gave Dean nightmares.

Sam looked a little suspicious, but he let it drop. "So what else happened? How did I end up down in the panic room? "

Speaking of panic, Dean hoped that his didn't show on his face as he frantically tried to think of an excuse for Sam to have been sleeping chained to the cot in the panic room, an excuse that didn't involve attempting to kill Bobby and having his missing soul replaced. He shrugged carelessly. "That's just where you were when you collapsed."

His mind showed him an instant replay of Sam's 'collapse'. The cold determination on his brother's face, his arm raised in preparation to bring the knife down to kill Bobby, the terror on the older hunter's face, terror that Dean wished he had never witnessed. He had always thought of Bobby as being fearless, facing whatever came his way. But that look haunted him, and it was why he knew it was going to take a while for Bobby to work his way through his issues with Sam.

He didn't blame their surrogate father for the terror, since he was pretty sure that same feeling had surged through him when his brother had just watched him getting turned like it was a particularly interesting scientific experiment. He still remembered Sam's questions, asking what it felt like, curious rather than the desperation to help his brother that Dean had been expecting.

Suddenly, Sam looked startled. "Oh wait. When I had that . . . memory, you were just about to tell me if Lisa and Ben are okay. Are they?"

Like a dog with a bone. Dean sighed resignedly. He had known he wasn't going to get out of it, but he was still searching for a way to keep Sam from knowing the whole truth. "Yes, they're fine. But I started to hunt again, and Lisa was afraid that I was going to start bringing my 'work' home with me. It was really over between us anyway."

His mind dredged up Lisa's bitter words on the phone. _"But I didn't expect Sam to come back. And I'm glad he's okay, I am. But the minute he walked through that door, I knew it was over."_

He studied Sam closely to see if his brother was buying this half-truth version of what had really happened. And he could tell he really was. But then the kitchen door slamming brought him back to earth as Bobby, who had apparently been listening at the door, stormed back out to the garage. Dean cringed, holding his breath as he turned to look at Sam.

His brother's face held only disillusionment and impatience. He had apparently figured out that Bobby's quick retreat meant that there was something more going on. "So what aren't you telling me, Dean?"

**_TBC . . ._**


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Thanks so much for reading and for the reviews! It's very encouraging to see that you have stuck with this story even though the show is now two episodes beyond it! As always, a very special thanks to Cynbad3 for all of her encouragement and for keeping me motivated and on task. And of course for the wonderful beta job!**_

**_Disclaimer in chapter 1_**

**_Chapter 10_**

Sam could have kicked himself. Although he hadn't believed Dean at first, his brother could be very persuasive, and Sam had truly wanted to believe that nothing else had happened. He wanted to take Dean's story at face value, count his blessings that he was back among the living, remembering nothing of his time in the cage, and had apparently picked up another family member in their grandfather. But he should have remembered that things rarely ended up to be as nice and neat as all that, and Dean was notoriously hard to pry information from when he was protecting his brother_._

He sighed, pushed a hand through his hair and glared at Dean pointedly. "Did you need me to repeat the question?"

Dean was sitting stiffly in his chair, glaring at the door like it was somehow to blame for something. He swung his gaze back to Sam, fidgeting, and then his shoulders fell. "No."

He looked so defeated that Sam almost wanted to withdraw the question. He would have, if it had been about anything else. But he had to know what he had missed, what had Bobby being so aloof and skittish around him and Dean looking so old and tired. He decided that it might be best if he helped his brother get started.

"Okay, here's an easy one. Why don't we start with that? Exactly how long has it been since the last day I remember, that day at the cemetery?" Sam thought that should be an easy question to get Dean talking.

But his brother seemed to almost wilt, running a hand through his short hair in agitation. "It's been . . . . " He hesitated and then turned pleading eyes on Sam. "Can't we have this conversation later? Can't we just enjoy the fact that you're back for a little while first?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. Dean had tried that same trick when the brothers were reunited after Sam had woken up from being dead the first time . . . and if anybody else could hear what he had just thought, he would be locked up for observation. Their lives were so insane. At any rate, Dean had tried to get Sam to just relax and not think about things, mostly because he hadn't wanted Sam to know about the deal he had made to bring him back.

"It's a simple question, Dean. I'm not asking where I was, I'm not asking what I did, or what _you_ did for that matter. Just tell me how long ago that day was?" He glared at Dean, daring him to try to get out of it again. Sam hadn't really been thinking clearly before, and he still was having issues with that strange feeling in his head, but he should have realized it was far too cold out to be a year after Stull. It had to be sometime in the winter, which apparently meant he had already been back for quite a while and had no memory of that, either.

Suddenly Dean stood up, looking miserable but determined. "I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you everything, but you need to eat something first. You haven't had anything to eat in a couple of days, and you need your strength back for this conversation."

Sam's frustration boiled over. "Dean, I'm not hungry. I want to know right now what you're hiding from me!"

"I'm sorry. Better luck next time. Thank you for playing Let's Make a Deal. " Dean's lilting voice imitated one of those annoying game show announcers and made Sam grit his teeth impatiently. Then his brother sobered and met his glare head-on. "Not until you at least eat a couple of sandwiches or something. I don't think it's a good idea at all, but I know you; you're like a dog with a bone. You're never going to quit asking until I tell you, so I might as well just do it and get it over with . . . but only after you eat."

"Fine." Sam winced at how petulant he sounded, but he really wasn't hungry. He knew he needed to choose his battles carefully, though. He knew if he didn't give in to Dean's demand, his brother was stubborn enough to decide to never tell him what he needed to know. He stood up and headed toward the refrigerator to make himself a couple of sandwiches.

He was leaning into the refrigerator looking to see what type of sandwich material he could find when the kitchen door slammed again. He pulled his head out of the refrigerator to see what was going on, not overly surprised to see that Dean was gone. Sam guessed he was probably on his way out to the garage to ask Bobby for advice. He shrugged and grabbed a loaf of bread off the counter. He was actually a little surprised Dean hadn't insisted on making the sandwiches for him so he could control how much he put on the bread.

He shook his head and slathered some mayonnaise on one side of the bread and put ham and lettuce on the other. At least Bobby had some half decent lunch supplies in his refrigerator. He put his sandwiches on a plate and headed back to his seat at the table. He had to force the first few bites down, but then the tastes of the different components of the sandwich exploded onto his tongue, and it was delicious, better than anything he could remember eating in a long time. After that it didn't take long to devour the rest of the sandwiches. He even ended up adding a handful of potato chips and a bottle of Root Beer.

Once he was done with his lunch, he sat back to wait for Dean to return. His brother had been gone for several minutes, and Sam hoped he wasn't out there trying to figure another way out of telling him what had happened. If Dean thought he could find a way out of this discussion, he could just think again. He thought again of the flash he had experienced only minutes ago that apparently was an actual memory of watching his brother be turned by a vampire.

What he couldn't understand was where the fear and horror were. In his memory, for some reason he had instead almost seemed to be excited to see what happened next, and that was not possible. He could never have been that coldly calculating, not where Dean was concerned. This whole situation made absolutely no sense, and it would really help him to think better if his head didn't feel so weird. He felt like if he just kept pushing, maybe he could remember what Dean was trying so hard to keep from him.

He had just decided to go look for his brother when the door opened, and Dean was back. His eyes were flashing dangerously, and his cheeks were flushed with anger. Sam wondered what Bobby could have done to make Dean so angry. Those two were always on the same page; in fact, it had annoyed Sam more than once in the past how they made such a formidable team when they were looking out for Sam's well being. But everything seemed to be out of balance here. How bad was this that Dean and Bobby apparently couldn't even agree on the best course of action?

Of course, this did correlate again to the time directly after Dean had made the deal. Sam had been confused at the time by Bobby's reaction when they had arrived at his front door, but it had all fallen into place later when he discovered that the last time Bobby had seen him he had been dead. Bobby and Dean had gone outside, ostensibly to get some books from Bobby's truck, but when Sam had looked out the window to see what was taking so long, they had been over in the junkyard with Ellen. He had just assumed that they had run over there when they saw her, but after the fact he had realized that they had been over there in the first place so they could argue without Sam hearing.

Whatever had happened this time, Bobby and Dean seemed to be at odds again over how to handle it. It made him wonder if Dean had told him the whole truth so far, or if he really had made some kind of a deal again.

Dean slumped back down into his chair across from Sam, staring at the table as he visibly fought to regain his composure. After a few long deep breaths, he finally looked up at Sam wearily. "Did you eat?"

Sam leaned forward urgently. "Yes, Dean, I ate. Two ham sandwiches, some chips and a root beer. And before you suggest it, no I don't think I should take another nap before we have this discussion. You're scaring me. What happened?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I didn't think I would get you to push it off anymore. Sammy, I need you to remember that you had no control over what happened, and it wasn't you."

Sam's heart started thumping in his chest. This must be really bad. His guess was that Bobby wanted him to know and Dean didn't. "Tell me."

Dean looked like he couldn't find the words at first, and then he slowly began his tale. "When you came back, something seemed a little . . . off. You didn't seem all that happy to see me; in fact, I got the impression that if I hadn't been in trouble, you would have never let me know you were back." He swallowed hard and looked down at the table. Now it was his turn to pick at the label on his bottle.

Sam wanted to jump in and apologize, but he really felt that he was going to need to wait until Dean got this story out, no matter how painful it was.

"So when you asked me to go with you, I stayed with Lisa and Ben instead. I really was worried about them. We were fighting djinn right in the house where I'd been living with them for the past year, and I was afraid that if word got out that they had a connection to me, that other things would try to come after them." He looked up for just a second, his eyes dark with remembered misery. "But if you had asked me to come with you because you missed me and you needed my help, I really think I would have done it in a heartbeat."

"That's not why I wanted you to come with me?" Sam was floored by this revelation. What other reason could he have possibly had for asking Dean to leave the family he had thrown him at in the first place?

Dean shook his head, not quite meeting Sam's eyes. "No. You said you wanted me to come because I cared about the victims, and you didn't anymore. I had tried to save my neighbors when the djinn had gone after them, and you said that you wouldn't have even tried."

Sam felt sick. How could he have been so callous? He had spent half of his life living with ridicule from his big brother because he cared _too _much. How could he have changed so drastically?

"So I stayed and you left, but you kept pulling me back in, and Lisa knew that I wasn't cut out for a 9 to 5 job, and that I really missed being on the road with you. And that I was really worried about what was up with you. So she told me to leave and just come back when I could. I was so grateful, because it felt like I was going to get everything I wanted. I still had Lisa and Ben, and I could go back on the road doing what we do best.

"But the more time I spent with you, the more I knew something was really wrong. You were . . . I guess ruthless is a good word. You did what needed to be done, no matter what, and suddenly I was the one that could empathize with the victims and witnesses. I finally asked Cas for help, and he examined you and said . . ." He paused, swallowing hard. "He said your soul was missing."

Sam's blood ran cold, and it was a good thing he was already sitting down. No soul? What could a man do without a soul? How far would he go in the name of doing the right thing? He couldn't even begin to imagine how bad this had gotten, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to know any more, but he _needed_ to know. "Dean, I am _so_ sorry. How long has it been since Stull?"

Dean sighed again. "Eighteen months."

"I have my soul back now?" Sam was fairly sure he did, but he needed to be sure. "That's why I don't remember what happened before? Because I just got it back?"

Dean nodded soberly. Sam's mind was racing, trying to go in twenty different directions at once. How had he gotten his soul back? What horrible things had he done? What could he do to make up for any damage he had caused? Why had he been missing his soul in the first place? The fleeting thoughts were jumbling all together and making his head ache. He lifted a hand to his forehead and rubbed at it, trying to ease the pain. He wasn't expecting Dean's reaction.

"Sammy? What's wrong?" Dean had left his seat and was crouched down beside Sam so that he was at eyelevel. "Are you okay?" He looked as freaked out as Sam had ever seen him.

"Just a headache." Sam tried to look at Dean, but he couldn't see his face clearly through the tears brimming in his eyes. He struggled to hold them back. This was so far worse than anything he had imagined, that he didn't know how to even begin to handle it. "What did I do, Dean?" And then a horrific thought hit him. "Oh no." It came out almost as a moan.

Dean grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it sympathetically. "What is it, Sam?" His voice was soft but urgent. He looked almost more panicked than Sam felt.

Sam stopped fighting the tears, horrified by his thought. "The vampire . . . we didn't get careless, did we? I let you get turned on purpose?" The memory replayed over and over in his mind, and the feeling of excitement watching his brother getting turned made Sam want to lose the lunch that had tasted so good just a few minutes before. Now it sat like a lump in his churning stomach. How could he have done that to his own brother, even without a soul?

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder so hard it would probably leave a bruise, but it served its purpose and caught Sam's attention. "It wasn't you, Sammy. Remember I told you that before we started talking?"

Sam tried to see Dean's face through the shimmering haze covering his vision. "Then why do I remember it?" He turned away, unable to even look his brother in the eye. "What else did I do?"

Sam felt a hand grasp his other shoulder, but he couldn't stand the comfort. He shrugged it off miserably.

"Sam, don't worry about that now. I think we should take a break and let you just digest this for now. We can talk again later." Dean sounded every bit the concerned big brother, and Sam couldn't fathom how his brother could even look at him after what he had done.

"I think . . ." he finally croaked out. "I think the memories are there. It feels like I can almost get to them. It's really strange; it's almost like there's a barrier in the way. I just need to keep pushing to get to them."

"NO!" The word rang out in three different voices, and Sam looked around in alarm, blinking his vision clear.

Dean looked ready to cry himself, still hanging onto Sam's shoulder. Castiel and Bobby had apparently entered the room at some point during the conversation. Castiel was standing right behind him, and Sam guessed now that it had been his hand that he had shrugged off. Bobby was standing closer to the door, like he had just entered the room. All three of them stared at him in horror.

"But I could . . ." Sam got about that far when Dean jumped in.

"No, Sam. Don't try to remember anything. I promise I'll tell you whatever you need to know, but you cannot try to push to get to those memories." From the look on his face, Dean was terrified about something. Apparently that something was Sam pushing for the memories.

His shoulders slumped in despair, Sam looked up at his brother. "_Why_, Dean? What's going to happen if I push to remember?"

Castiel grasped Sam's shoulder again. "If you attempt to push through the barrier you feel holding back your memories, it will also release the memories you have of being in the cage for all that time. And trust me, Sam, you do not want to do that."

Sam thought about that for a minute and realized that Cas probably knew more of what he would have gone through in the cage than the other two. He stubbornly shook his head, though he wanted to just forget the whole thing. He needed to know what horrible things he might have done with no soul.

Bobby cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Sam looked over at him, startled. He had almost forgotten that the older hunter was there. When the older man spoke, his voice was even more gruff than usual. "You listen to your brother, Sam. There's nothing in those memories you're missing that's important enough to risk bringing that wall down. You just rest easy, boy, and don't worry about it for now."

Sam felt himself automatically start to relax a little. He was pretty sure that Bobby wouldn't lie to him, but both Dean and Castiel were looking at Bobby in surprise, so he was starting to think that maybe he was wrong about that.

**_TBC . . . _**


	11. Chapter 11

**_A/N: Sorry for taking longer than usual to get this chapter out. It was the hardest for me to write so far, but it finally started to come together last night. I also was away for the weekend visiting friends, including my wonderful beta Cynbad3! As always, thanks to her for a wonderful beta job and for being such an excellent cheerleader! Thank you so much to all of you still hanging in there with me. You really have blown me away with your response to this story! _**

**_Disclaimer in chapter 1_**

**_Chappter 11 _**

Dean was more frustrated than he could remember being in a very long time, and that was saying something. He had only had his brother back for a few days, only had him conscious for less than one, and already Sam seemed to be doing his best to take himself right back out of the picture. And Dean was afraid that this time there would be no last-minute save. Cas had already said he couldn't help them if the wall fell, and Death was certainly not going to come back to help out. If only Sam would just stop asking questions, stop thinking for a little bit and let them actually celebrate the fact that he was back. That's all Dean wanted. And to get what he wanted, he had pulled out all the stops. He had tried being firm with Sam, pleading with him, even bargaining with him. But nothing had worked.

Everything had been going so well. He had told Sam a carefully watered down version of the facts; just enough to pacify his brother's thirst for the truth. And then Bobby had ruined it all, slamming the door in apparent disgust before heading back out to the garage. And just like that, all of Dean's carefully worded explanations had become suspect. He could see clearly that Sam didn't believe a word he had just said, and for just a split second he wanted to go out and finish the job he had barely stopped Sam from completing two days ago. That thought calmed his anger like a bucket of cold water. Bobby had every right to be upset. He had come as close as was possible to death without crossing that final line, and it was Sam's hand that had been holding the knife.

So yes, he understood why Bobby would have issues with his version of the truth, but was the older hunter so angry at Sam that he _wanted _to trigger the wall falling? It really hadn't even been Sam's fault. It's not like Sam had _asked_ to be returned topside without his soul. That had all been Crowley's doing. So telling Sam would accomplish nothing but to make him feel terrible over something he would never have done had he still possessed a soul.

He sighed, watching as Sam stood stiffly and marched over to the refrigerator to make himself a couple of sandwiches. At least his bargaining had been good for something. Sam hadn't eaten anything since Death's visit, and he had to be starving. As soon as Sam leaned into the refrigerator, Dean stood up and stomped out of the room, retracing Bobby's path. He figured that Sam would probably wonder where he had gone, but the poor kid wanted to know the truth so badly that he would still eat a lunch while waiting for his brother to return.

Dean stormed over to the garage, expecting to find Bobby working on one of his many projects; he always had cars scattered around in varying stages of repair. But Bobby was leaning up against the counter where he kept his tools, staring off into space thoughtfully. This took a little of the wind out of Dean's sails, and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

"You want to tell me what that was all about?" His voice still shook with anger when he spoke, so he guessed the deep breath hadn't worked.

Bobby flinched but didn't look at Dean. He didn't answer right away, and Dean could tell he was gathering his thoughts before responding. Finally he spoke, and his voice was just as angry as Dean's was. "I don't know."

Dean's fury increased, something he hadn't thought was possible. "What do you mean, you don't know? I had him calmed down and only told him enough to keep him from asking more questions. Are you _trying_ to trigger the wall? A pre-emptive strike? Kill him before he kills you?"

"No!" Bobby spat the word, finally meeting Dean's gaze with hurt in his eyes. He tugged at the bill of his cap in distress. "I don't want him dead! Dean, I love that kid like he was mine. You know that. But every time I look at him, I can see that knife coming at me, and the feeling I had when I knew he was going to kill me, and I don't know how to get past it." He sighed, dropping his eyes again. "And I don't think that what you're doing is right."

Dean nodded, his concern for Bobby melting some of the anger. "Yeah, I get that. But what am I supposed to do? Just come right out and tell him he almost murdered you in cold blood? And all of the other freaky things he did in the past six months? Not to mention who knows what he might have done in the year before that? It would kill him. Or worse, it would make him scratch harder at that wall. Bobby, I just got him back. I can't lose him again two days later."

Bobby sighed. "I know. But you have to understand he's not going to let it go until he knows what happened. He's a smart guy. And from what he told you in the kitchen, he's already starting to remember pieces of what happened here with his physical self while he was in the cage. How long do you think it will be until he remembers what it is that you're trying to keep from him?"

Dean leaned up against the counter, letting his head droop. "I don't know, Bobby. I don't know what to do. But what if we do it your way and we lose him? Can you live with that? Because I don't think I could." He hated feeling helpless, and right now he felt like anything he did could be the wrong thing and lead to the loss of his newly recovered brother.

Bobby gripped Dean's shoulder firmly. "If we do it right, I think he'll be okay. Honestly, I think he's more likely to go scratching around if we _don't_ tell him the truth. If it would make you feel better, why don't you get Castiel to come help in case you need a little of his 'angel mojo'?"

Now there was an idea. At least if Cas was there, he could monitor Sam and make sure he was handling things okay, and he could always put him to sleep if he started getting too worked up. "Okay." His agreement was reluctant, but he really didn't feel like he had any choice. "Cas?"

Bobby's eyes widened dramatically, and then narrowed in exasperation, looking just beyond the younger man's shoulder. "Do you have to do that?"

Dean whirled to look behind him, not really all that surprised to see Castiel standing there. He did find it interesting, however, that Cas had responded so much more quickly every time they had called since the decision had been made to 're-soul' his brother. Apparently Cas really _did_ care about Sam. He thought fleetingly of the angel's words during the joint attack on Crowley with Meg and her entourage.

"_I'm not sure retrieving Sam's soul is wise."_ He had spoken very slowly and deliberately, as if he were thinking very carefully about his words.

"_Wait . . . what?" _His words had floored Dean. After all, wasn't retrieving Sam's soul the whole point of the mission they were on?

"_I want him to survive." _The fact that Castiel would have preferred that Sam remain the cold automaton he had become rather than risk the younger man's death told Dean that the angel really did care about him. It couldn't be comfortable for Castiel to be around Sam the way he was. It had been hard enough for Dean to be around him, and he was his own brother.

And Cas had been there when Sam woke up, trying to help keep him calm and using his 'angel mojo', as Bobby had put it, to put him back to sleep when it hadn't worked. So Dean hoped that Castiel would help them now.

"Hey, Cas. Thank you for coming. We need your help." Dean thought guiltily of all of the times he had just assumed Castiel would help them, and in his arrogance he had ordered the angel around. He wondered how much restraint it had taken their friend to hold back and meekly help with whatever they were working on instead of turning Dean into a greasy spot on the floor.

Castiel nodded soberly now. "Of course. What do you need?"

Quickly getting the angel to agree, the three men settled down to decide on the best course of action. Dean got fired up again, however, when Cas agreed wholeheartedly with Bobby that Dean had gone about this all wrong. Five minutes later Dean headed back to the kitchen, anger and fear churning deep inside, but simultaneously comforted by the assurance that Cas and Bobby would be following a few minutes behind in case he needed some backup.

Entering the kitchen, he found Sam sitting quietly at a clean and empty table, watching the door. He seemed nervous but fairly calm, considering the circumstances. Dean wondered if he had actually followed orders and eaten something. Scanning the room quickly, he spotted a dirty plate in the sink. "Did you eat?"

Sam answered in a clipped tone, looking annoyed but resigned. "Yes, Dean, I ate. Two ham sandwiches, some chips and a root beer." He paused, eyes narrowed suspiciously, and then continued before Dean could open his mouth. "And before you suggest it, no I don't think I should take another nap before we have this discussion. You're scaring me. What happened?"

As much as he did not want to have this conversation, and as worried as he was about his brother, Dean still had to stifle a smile that Sammy knew him so well. He had been just about to suggest the nap. He sighed, knowing there was no way out of it now. "Yeah, I didn't think I would get you to push it off anymore." He hoped he could pull this off without destroying his little brother. "Sammy, I need you to remember that you had no control over what happened, and it wasn't you."

Sam looked terrified, but he swallowed hard. "Tell me."

Dean began the true story, choosing his words carefully. He may have to tell his brother this horrendous story, but he would still soften the blow as much as he possibly could. "When you came back, something seemed a little . . . off. You didn't seem all that happy to see me; in fact, I got the impression that if I hadn't been in trouble, you would have never let me know you were back."

He had to stop at that. He still had anger management issues about this fact. It was bad enough that Sam had not told him, although considering Sam's condition, it made sense now. But Bobby had known about it and still swore he had done the right thing by not telling Dean his brother, or at least a facsimile of his brother, was back. A whole year that he had suffered needlessly.

Sam shuffled uncomfortably, and Dean realized he had stopped talking, too wrapped up in his own pain and anger. He shook it off and continued. "So when you asked me to go with you, I stayed with Lisa and Ben instead. I really was worried about them. We were fighting djinn right in the house where I'd been living with them for the past year, and I was afraid that if word got out that they had a connection to me, that other things would try to come after them."

He paused again, suddenly realizing the truth of the statement he was about to make. "But if you had asked me to come with you because you missed me and you needed my help, I really think I would have done it in a heartbeat."

Sam looked confused. "That's not why I wanted you to come with me?"

Dean shook his head, wishing he could think of a way . . . _any_ way . . . out of telling Sam the rest of this story. "No. You said you wanted me to come because I cared about the victims, and you didn't anymore. I had tried to save my neighbors when the djinn had gone after them, and you said that you wouldn't have even tried." He still remembered how guilty he had felt knowing that Sid and his wife had died merely because they had lived next door to Dean.

He shrugged it off and forced himself to continue. "So I stayed and you left, but you kept pulling me back in, and Lisa knew that I wasn't cut out for a 9 to 5 job, and that I really missed being on the road with you. And that I was really worried about what was up with you. So she told me to leave and just come back when I could. I was so grateful, because it felt like I was going to get everything I wanted. I still had Lisa and Ben, and I could go back on the road doing what we do best."

It was funny how wrong he had been. He had been sure that Lisa's suggestion had been the solution to everything. He could have his cake and eat it too. Stick with Sam and make sure his little brother was okay and still have Lisa and Ben to come home to when he missed them too much. Because the truth was, that if Sam had not died; if he had moved away to school or for a job, Lisa and Ben would have been what he had wanted. But not with Sam gone. Dean had hoped he could somehow have both. Obviously that had not been in the cards.

It was a real struggle to describe how Sam had acted, but he needed to somehow do it without traumatizing him. "But the more time I spent with you, the more I knew something was really wrong. You were . . . I guess ruthless is a good word. You did what needed to be done, no matter what, and suddenly I was the one that could empathize with the victims and witnesses. I finally asked Cas for help, and he examined you and said . . ." He swallowed hard, searching for gentler words, but finding none. He finally just said it outright. "He said your soul was missing."

Sam looked . . . well the only way Dean could think of to describe how Sam looked at this announcement was to say he looked utterly gobsmacked. His little brother looked sick, and his eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "Dean, I am _so_ sorry. How long has it been since Stull?"

Dean sighed. He really wished this conversation would end right _now_. "Eighteen months."

He looked up as the door opened, and Castiel walked into the room, looking at Sam in concern. Bobby followed him in, but hovered near the doorway. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. His backup had arrived. Cas stepped confidently up behind Sam, but remained silent, allowing Dean to continue to take the lead in the conversation. Dean's eyes narrowed. Sam was so focused on the information he had just learned that he didn't seem to even be aware of the new arrivals. Dean could almost see the wheels turning in that freaky big brain.

"I have my soul back now?" Sam nodded a little as he said it, like he wasn't actually asking; he was just thinking out loud. "That's why I don't remember what happened before? Because I just got it back?"

And then Sam lifted a hand to his head, his face twisted in pain. Dean panicked. Was this it? Was this the wall coming down? "Sammy? What's wrong?" He slid out of his seat and crouched down in front of Sam, throwing a frantic look up at Cas for help. "Are you okay?"

"Just a headache." Sam squinted at Dean, seeming to have trouble focusing on him, and Dean wasn't sure if it was because of the wall, the headache or the tears that glistened in his brother's eyes. "What did I do, Dean?" And then it was like the light went on, and all the color drained from his face. "Oh, no!" The words came out as a moan, and Sam looked horrified.

"What is it, Sam?" Dean wanted to stop this now, but the damage was done, and he was starting to wonder if Sam would survive this conversation intact. He had no idea how much it would take to bring that wall down. Death had said it only had a seventy-five percent chance of working to begin with. He threw Castiel another pleading look. The angel could stop this; if he put Sam to sleep, maybe he would be stronger after some more rest.

But Sam was not about to stop now. "The vampire . . . we didn't get careless, did we? I let you get turned on purpose?" He looked like he was actually remembering now. His face was starting to actually look green, and Dean wondered if he needed to grab the trash can.

He gripped Sam's shoulder so hard it probably hurt, but he needed to give his brother something else to focus on. When he spoke, he kept his voice gentle but urgent. "It wasn't you, Sammy. Remember I told you that before we started talking?"

"Then why do I remember it?" Sam finally lost his battle with the tears, and he looked away as they streaked silently down his cheeks. "What else did I do?"

Dean watched as apparently Castiel finally decided to help, grabbing Sam's other shoulder. The younger man just shrugged him off, looking devastated.

"Sam, don't worry about that now. I think we should take a break and let you just digest this for now. We can talk again later." Dean was really hoping Sam would take his advice, but it didn't seem too likely.

"I think . . ." Sam paused, clearing his throat miserably. "I think the memories are there. It feels like I can almost get to them. It's really strange; it's almost like there's a barrier in the way. I just need to keep pushing to get to them."

"NO!" The cry came from all three men at once, startling Sam, who didn't seem to have been aware that Castiel and Bobby had even entered the room.

He looked at all three of them in confusion, and then tried again. "But I could . . ."

"No, Sam. Don't try to remember anything. I promise I'll tell you whatever you need to know, but you cannot try to push to get to those memories." Dean let his panic show, knowing that it would do no good to hide it. Maybe his obvious panic would make Sam think twice and follow Dean's command. Yeah, and pigs could fly, too.

Sam looked devastated, but he was still thinking clearly enough to ask his favorite question since he had been old enough to talk. "_Why_, Dean?" Dean had a sudden flashback to little Sammy following him around asking that very same question. _"Why, Dean? Why is the sun hot? Why do I have a shadow? Why do caterpillars turn into butterflies?"_ Dean had always managed to come up with some sort of answer, sometimes even looking it up to make sure he was telling him right. And then there were the really hard questions that he could never answer to Sam's satisfaction. _"Why, Dean? Why do we have to move again? Why do you put salt in front of the door? Why do I always have to sleep in the bed by the window? Why does Daddy have to go away so much?"_

"Why, Dean? What's going to happen if I push to remember?" Sam's question brought Dean back to the present, but he was relieved when Castiel jumped in to answer it for him.

"If you attempt to push through the barrier you feel holding back your memories, it will also release the memories you have of being in the cage for all that time. And trust me, Sam, you do not want to do that." Castiel had grabbed Sam's shoulder again and was watching him intently.

Dean had hoped that would be enough, but Sam shook his head stubbornly. Dean sighed. Sam was definitely his father's son; he had to have gotten his stubbornness from somewhere! Dean was stunned when it was Bobby who jumped in this time. He had almost forgotten the older hunter was even there.

Bobby had taken a step forward, and he cleared his throat now, looking ill at ease. "You listen to your brother, Sam. There's nothing in those memories you're missing that's important enough to risk bringing that wall down. You just rest easy, boy, and don't worry about it for now."

Dean felt his mouth drop open, and he knew Castiel looked as stunned as he did. Those were the last words he had ever expected to come out of Bobby's mouth. He knew the older hunter was still struggling with the aftermath of RoboSam's murder attempt, and he knew Bobby well enough to know that a part of him really wanted Sam to know the truth of what he had done. But apparently, his fatherly instincts were even more deeply ingrained. Seeing his surrogate son so upset had touched the older man.

Bobby met Dean's eyes defiantly for a split second, and then he turned his attention back to Sam. "I think you need to rest. You know the truth now, so you can just turn off that big brain of yours for a few hours and get some more sleep. Do you need Castiel to 'help' you sleep?"

Sam didn't even seem to consider arguing. He brushed the tears from his cheeks self-consciously. "No, I really am tired." In fact, he seemed to have lost all of his energy after the emotional conversation.

Dean found himself heavily supporting Sam as his brother stood shakily to his feet, and he silently cursed his brother's new physique. Sam had always been taller than Dean, making him awkward to carry, but with his newly added bulk, he was heavy, too. He ducked under the younger man's arm and looked back at Bobby and Castiel with relief as he led the way back up the stairs.

Sam was docile now, but wouldn't look at Dean, and the older brother figured it was because he was still thinking about what he had done. He let Dean ease him back down on the bed and cover him with the blanket, but he immediately turned onto his side, presenting his back and effectively hiding his face. Dean patiently sat down on the edge of Sam's bed in a move he had patented as a young boy, pushing back until his hip brushed against Sam's leg. As a child, he had always pretended to be doing something else that gave him a logical excuse to have to sit there, but this time he thought it would do Sam more good to know he was just there for him.

He leaned back, resting his arm against Sam's bowed back, reassured when he could feel the taut muscles finally start to relax. He slumped in relief when Sam's breathing deepened into the slower respirations of slumber. He wasn't sure how this was all going to end up, but Sam had made it through finding out most of the truth with the wall intact. He hoped his brother didn't ever have to find out the rest of what had happened, but if it did come out, Dean was comforted to know that at least he would not be alone in dealing with the fallout.

He settled back to keep watch over his brother, watching his peaceful slumber, his own eyes getting progressively heavier until he finally joined Sam in sleep, slumping down against him, only vaguely aware when two pairs of hands lifted him to his feet, helped him stumble the few feet to his own bed and covered him with a blanket. And then he wasn't aware of anything.

_**TBC . . .**_


	12. Chapter 12

**_A/N: Thanks again for sticking with me, and especially for the reviews, alerts and favorites. I am still blown away by your response to this story! This chapter took a little longer to get going, but thank goodness today it finally got there. I think I actually got derailed by The French Mistake. It was really hard to get back into angst mode after that one! Many thanks to Cynbad3, who had her work cut out for her in keeping me focused! :) And thanks for the quick beta! _**

**_Disclaimer in chapter 1_**

**_Chapter 12_**

The next few days went by in a haze for Sam. He tried to keep his distance from Dean and Bobby, too busy contemplating what he had learned to really want to be bothered with what was going on now. He ate when one of the others brought him some food, slept when Dean insisted, and just drifted in his thoughts the rest of the time. On a few occasions, he had attempted to push for his memories again, but somehow Dean had seemed to know what he was doing and stopped him.

He was starting to feel smothered with all of the attention he was getting from the two older men, and even Castiel had made an appearance to see how he was feeling. He wanted to be left alone, but the more distant and contemplative he became, the more diligent they seemed to be with keeping an eye on him, leaving all three of them frustrated and on edge.

Castiel seemed oblivious to the tension when he made his second appearance since Sam had found out the truth. He appeared in the kitchen when all three men were sitting at the table eating breakfast. Sam was the only one who didn't jump at the sudden intrusion, and that was only because he was busy studying the inside of his cereal bowl in order to avoid his brother's eyes.

He caught Dean's flinch out of the corner of his eye, and looked up to see what was going on. Both of the older hunters were glaring at Cas, who stood just in front of the kitchen sink.

"Could you _please_ stop doing that?" Dean's voice was sharper than he usually let it get with the angel, and Sam looked at him closely, really seeing him for the first time in nearly a week.

He would have thought that Dean getting his brother back would have made him look more relaxed and rested, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. The dark circles were more pronounced around his eyes, and his color had faded even more. The last thing Sam had wanted was to drag his brother down with his problems, but it seemed that it was exactly what he had done. He decided that he was going to need to make a concerted effort to follow the current events, if only to make it easier for Dean.

Castiel looked puzzled. "Stop doing what?"

"Stop just popping in without any warning! I've told you before, normal people use the door. That way you can knock, we have a warning that you're there, and we can go let you in." Dean's anger and frustration showed in his voice, and Sam's resolve grew stronger. Somehow he needed to get himself together enough to be there for his brother.

The angel looked puzzled. "That would be inefficient. This was much faster, and none of you needed to get up to let me in." He shrugged, clearly done with the moment. "Dean, I need your help."

Dean looked up with interest, and Sam cheered inwardly. Maybe his brother just needed to think about something else for a while.

Castiel took a step toward the table. "I need you to come with me to retrieve some more weapons I have located. I have been told it is a two man job." He stepped back, waiting expectantly.

Dean's expression darkened. "A two man job, huh? So of course you just decided to come and get me to help you with it. Don't you have any angel flunkies? _Anybody_ else who could help you with this? Because now is not a good time for me." He eyed Sam for a second, his eyes full of concern, and then looked back at Castiel.

It was extremely rare to see Castiel get truly angry. In fact, Sam reflected thoughtfully, the last time he knew of it happening, Dean alone had borne witness to it and had returned half-conscious and covered in bruises and blood. But he was surprised to see it happen now. Castiel's normally placid expression dissolved into a clenched jaw and eyes bright with anger. When he finally spoke, it wasn't in his usual monotone growl, but with inflection and passion.

"Dean, I don't know how many times I need to remind you of this, but I am in the middle of a war. And yet every time you have asked me for something, I have done what you asked, even though it was not 'a good time for me'." He raised his hands as he spoke, dragging two fingers on each hand through the air.

Sam blinked. Did Castiel just use air quotes? He shook his head, trying to shake off the rest of the fog that seemed to have gathered in his brain. He looked over at his brother, wondering if Dean thought that was as strange as he did. He was just in time to see Dean deflate, suddenly back to looking tired and worn.

"I know. I'm sorry, Cas. I know it's a double standard, but I just can't leave right now." His voice was pleading now, and he seemed truly torn.

"Is it something I can help you with?" Bobby weighed in on the conversation. "I'd be glad to go with you and help with whatever your job is."

Sam's heart rate picked up. If Dean left for a little while, even though he was a little nervous about it, he would only have to contend with Bobby, and for some reason the older hunter was still keeping his distance. It would give Sam the space he so desperately craved.

"I think you should go." When three faces turned to stare blankly at him, he realized it was probably the most coherent thing he had said since he had found out what had happened over the past year. He pressed on doggedly. "Cas needs your help, and I won't be alone. Bobby will be here, right?"

Bobby nodded, looking a little queasy, but Sam was willing to take that. A nod was agreement, no matter how hesitant. "Yeah, Bobby will be here, if anything goes wrong . . . which it won't." He emphasized the last three words. He needed Dean to be on board with this.

Dean studied him closely and then finally nodded painfully. "Fine. Sam says he'll be fine, so I'll come with you, but only for a quick trip."

Cas relaxed back into his usual straight face. "Thank you. I know this is hard for you, but I will get you back as quickly as possible." His face took on a look of concentration.

"But only," Dean put in quickly, "if I get to drive. All that zapping around makes me dizzy."

Cas looked puzzled again, but he nodded, clearly relieved that Dean had agreed to join him for his mission. "Thank you." He headed toward the door and the Impala.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I need to get my stuff together, Cas. Give me a few minutes." He disappeared up the stairs, returning a few minutes later with his duffle. Heading for the door, he stopped in his tracks, studying Sam intently. "Are you sure?"

Sam nodded. "Go ahead, Dean. I'll be fine."

Bobby stepped up beside Sam, resting his hand on the younger man's shoulder lightly. "Don't worry about us. We'll still be here when you come back."

Dean seemed to relax at that statement, nodding in satisfaction before following Castiel outside to the Impala. Sam stood up and leaned against the doorway, watching the black car as it eased down the driveway and out onto the road. Once he couldn't see it any more, he returned to his place at the table, picking up his bowl of cereal. Disgustedly, he realized it had soaked up all of the milk and was now a soggy mass on the bottom of the bowl. He stood up, carrying the bowl to the sink. He dumped the offending mess into the garbage disposal and then rinsed his bowl and stacked it neatly in the sink.

Turning purposefully toward Bobby, he took a deep breath. "Is there anything you need my help with?"

Bobby shook his head, still looking uncomfortable. "No, you go do what you want. I have some cars to work on today." He quickly exited the room, crunching across the gravel to the garage.

Sam smiled, relieved that he wasn't going to have to worry about Bobby keeping too close an eye on him. He really did need the space. He went into the library and sat down in an easy chair, picking up a book from the desk. Leaning back in the chair, he opened the book, a little disappointed to find it was an antique textbook on lycanthropy. He shook his head. He didn't really think he was going to get too much distraction from a book written in 1865 with an incredibly creative title like _The Book of Werewolves. _He set the book back on the desk and sighed.

Staring up at the ceiling, he tried not to think about the discussion he and Dean had shared the other day, but it kept running through his mind anyway. His eyes followed the barely visible crack in the plaster of the ceiling, wishing he had picked another room to sit in. This one, while it held many fond memories, also held one from four . . no, he supposed that would be five years ago now . . that he wished he could forget. Waking up after Bobby and Dean had exorcised Meg to find a battered and bruised Dean whose injuries had been caused by Sam's own fists and gun. Not exactly an image he wanted to think about right now.

He stood up unsteadily and quickly left the room, grabbing his jacket in the hallway and heading outside to walk in the junkyard. He really needed to find a way to get past this, for Dean's sake if for nothing else. He was glad Dean had agreed to accompany Cas on his mission, and he hoped it would keep his brother's mind on something other than _him_ for a while. Dean deserved some peace in his life. Maybe now that Sam had returned from the dead once again and had been successfully reunited with his soul, his brother would achieve some form of it.

He spent the day wandering through the junkyard and around the grounds. Every once in a while, he noticed Bobby in the distance, checking to make sure he could still see him, and then getting back to work on whichever project he was tackling at that time. Sam considered going to see if he could help, but Dean had always been the one who was mechanically inclined, and he didn't want to waste Bobby's time with his inept attempts to help. That reminded him of following at Bobby's heels as a small boy, asking endless questions and handing his 'Uncle Bobby' whatever tools he needed. Bobby had made a lonely little boy feel special with his request for Sam's help, even though he was fairly sure he had actually only slowed the mechanic down.

He smiled fondly. Those memories were bittersweet, because while they had been special times with his 'uncle', they had almost always corresponded with a painful memory of being left behind by his father and brother, either literally or emotionally. He shook his head in disgust. This wasn't helping either.

Bobby called him in for dinner as the sun was setting, and Sam reluctantly headed back inside. He knew it was bound to be an awkward evening with just the two of them there, considering Bobby's new reticence around him. He really wished he knew what had caused it, but there was no point in asking. Even if he had wanted to tell him, Dean had probably sworn him to secrecy. Whatever it was, it seemed like it must be pretty bad.

Sam trudged into the house, washing his hands at the kitchen sink, and then sat down at the table. He was disappointed, but not surprised to find only one place set at the table. Bobby had a second plate in his hand and was already heading back to the garage.

"Help yourself, Sam. You know where everything is. I'd sit down with you, but I'm really on a roll with the Charger tonight, and I'm just going to eat while I work." He was gone before Sam could respond.

He sighed, carrying his plate to the stove. Nothing too elaborate, just macaroni and cheese and green beans. He scooped some onto his plate and carried it back to the table. Sitting down, he looked around the room morosely. This was what he had wanted . . . space. But he hadn't expected to feel this lonely. He slowly ate his dinner, forcing himself to set the fork down after each bite. He had heard that this technique helped a dieter to eat less, giving him time to digest his food more quickly. Sam wasn't concerned about dieting; he just wanted to draw out the process of eating in an attempt to make time go more quickly.

He wondered how long Dean and Cas would actually be gone. It was funny how the one thing that he had wanted for the past few days was a little time and space to think things through, and now that he had it, he missed his brother fiercely. He finally scooped the rest of his food down the garbage disposal, where he supposed it met up with the remains of his breakfast. It hadn't been his best day for eating.

Finally after wandering the grounds all day, it got late enough that he felt he could reasonably decide to go to bed. He could still hear Bobby tinkering in the garage, but he figured the older man would figure out where he had gone when he finally came inside. Sam headed up to bed, hoping he would be able to get to sleep quickly.

Fortunately, it seemed he was still tired enough from his ordeal of the past week to drift off nearly immediately. He hovered in that comfortable state halfway between waking and sleep for a while, and then felt himself sinking deeper.

_Sam stood in Bobby's basement, sharpening his knife until it would cut through just about anything. His work was interrupted by the pleading voice from behind him._

"_Listen to me. . . .you don't want to do this!" Bobby's voice was urgent, and his breath sawed in and out like he had just run a marathon, but Sam continued to study the edges of his knife dispassionately. "Sam? I've been like a father to you, boy. Somewhere inside you've got to know that!" _

"_Well, that's just it." Sam was matter-of fact as he put the whetstone down and crossed the floor to Bobby's side. The older man should feel honored that Sam had chosen him for this ritual. The only person he was closer to was his brother, and even though Dean had raised him Sam wasn't sure that he would count as a father. He grasped Bobby by the forehead and tilted his head back sharply, exposing his throat. "Sorry."_

_He pulled the knife back, noting with mild interest the wild terror in Bobby's eyes . . . _

Sam sat up with a gasp, his eyes wide as he fought for breath. He wanted that to be just a terrible nightmare, but he knew instinctively that it was more. He had just remembered what it was that had Bobby so spooked to be around him. He moaned and grasped his head, staggering from his bed. He had to get out. How could he possibly stay here alone with Bobby when he had tried to kill the man that he considered more of a father than John Winchester had ever been?

He stumbled for the stairs, falling against the wall a few times on the way down. He didn't know where to go, but he couldn't stay here. Running out the front door, he realized that since Dean was gone, the Impala was too. He couldn't bring himself to take one of Bobby's vehicles . . . he had already taken too much from the older man. He staggered down the front steps of Bobby's porch and fled across the yard and back into the junkyard. He ran until he couldn't keep himself upright anymore, and then collapsed against the fender of a burned out husk of an old Rambler.

How could he have done that to Bobby, of all people? Why was the older hunter always the first person he went after? How many times did that make now that he had attacked him? He thought back to the incident he had been remembering this afternoon. He had killed one hunter while possessed by Meg, but then Bobby had been the second person he had sought out. If the older man hadn't been so vigilant, Sam might have tried to kill him too.

And then there was the second incident . . . he had actually succeeded in killing him eighteen months ago while possessed by Lucifer. But wait, that wasn't the second incident, that had been the third. The second had been during that whole horrible affair with Gabriel when Dean had been killed and stayed dead. Sam had wanted his brother back so badly that he had risked killing Bobby in the hopes that it wasn't actually the hunter but the trickster posing as him. After he had dealt the death blow, he hadn't been sure though. He had never told Bobby about that one, but it still stuck in his head.

That made the murder at Stull incident number three, and the attempt in Bobby's basement just a week ago would be number four. How could Bobby even stand to be in the same room with him? Sam didn't know how they would ever get past this. He knew that he had not had the benefit of a soul at the time, but that was no excuse. He broke down in ragged sobs, shivering miserably. He realized belatedly that he was barefoot and was wearing only ragged sweatpants and a t-shirt to protect him from the cold South Dakota winter weather.

Sam shuddered. No wonder Dean hadn't wanted him to remember what he had done. He only remembered a few things so far, and they were both so horrifying that he had no idea how he was going to continue on. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms, letting the tears fall at will.

**_TBC . . . _**


	13. Chapter 13

**_A/N: I sincerely apologize for the long delay in getting this chapter out. It was more difficult to write than most, and several areas of RL have been absorbing almost all of my time the past several weeks. Thanks so much to Cynbad3 for the quick beta, and for keeping me on track through everything! Thank you so much to all of you who have stuck with me and are still reading, reviewing, setting alerts and listing it as a favorite. You have been so wonderful and have made this project so much fun! _**

**_Disclaimer in chapter 1_**

**_Chapter 13_**

Bobby Singer could think of a whole list of things he would like to do, and not a single one of them involved spending time alone in his house with Sam Winchester so his brother could go gallivanting around with Castiel on some obscure angel mission. But when Dean hesitated to leave his brother, Sam looked at Bobby expectantly, appearing confident that the older hunter would back his play and reassure Dean that it would be okay to go. Before he realized what he was doing, he found himself nodding in agreement with the kid. Dean was looking washed out and exhausted, and although Bobby would rather have told him to go upstairs and get some sleep, he knew that getting away for a little while would probably do him more good.

Dean finally agreed and went upstairs to pack his duffle while Castiel went out to wait in the car, already focused on the mission. When the younger man came back downstairs, he dragged his feet as he headed toward the door, finally stopping in front of Sam. He peered at him critically. "Are you sure?"

Sam nodded patiently. "Go ahead, Dean. I'll be fine."

Bobby decided that was his cue to help out, so he forced himself to step forward and lay a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Don't worry about us. We'll still be here when you come back."

He left his hand on Sam's shoulder in a show of support until Dean looked satisfied and headed for the Impala, but he was ashamed to admit that he was relieved when Sam stood up and followed his brother to the door. Sam watched until the Impala was out of sight, and then it was just the two of them. The younger man headed back to the kitchen table, carried his bowl of cereal to the sink and dumped the contents down the garbage disposal. Then he turned around, looking lost for a split second.

Bobby almost thought he had imagined it when Sam looked up at him with resolve in his eyes. "Is there anything you need my help with?"

He had thought that he could do this; spend time with Sam so that Dean could get away for a little while, but now that it was just the two of them, Bobby panicked. He seized on the first excuse he could think of to get away. "No, you go do what you want. I have some cars to work on today." After years of knowing the Winchester boys, Bobby knew that working on cars was as boring and alien to Sam as it was second nature to Dean.

He tried to steel himself to the momentary disappointment that would flash through Sam's eyes. But to his surprise, the younger man nodded with a smile, looking almost relieved. Maybe Sam didn't want to spend time together any more than he did. He puzzled on that as he headed off to the garage to work on his cars.

Bobby spent the majority of the day in the garage, getting more accomplished than he had thought possible. He finished one project and moved on to the next, expecting to be interrupted at any moment, but Sam never appeared. Every now and then, he caught a glimpse of the younger man wandering through the junkyard or standing out in front of the house, but for the most part he was left alone. He took a break in the early afternoon to eat a quick lunch, wondering if Sam had been in to eat anything. He didn't see anything missing from the refrigerator and there appeared to be no new dishes in the sink, so he doubted it.

He went back to work, and the rest of the afternoon flew by. As he noticed the sun starting to drop in the sky, he decided it was about time for dinner. There were still no signs that Sam had been in the kitchen since breakfast, so Bobby dutifully prepared enough food for two. He wasn't feeling very ambitious tonight, so he made macaroni and cheese with some green beans on the side. When the food was nearly ready, he automatically laid two places at the table, but then reconsidered and filled one of the plates to take back to the garage. Just because he didn't want the kid to go hungry didn't mean he was ready to sit down and eat dinner with him.

He went to the door and called Sam in, because he was fairly sure the younger man would have wandered around all night with no thought of eating if left to himself. Bobby felt a twinge of guilt at that, because wasn't that what he had actually done all day? He had felt uncomfortable being around Sam for something the poor kid couldn't even remember doing, and so he had left him on his own. He wondered what Sam had been thinking as he had wandered around all day.

Sam came in and washed his hands quietly, sitting down at the table obediently. Bobby could tell the exact moment that Sam realized he would be eating on his own, and this time he caught the flash of disappointment he had expected earlier. The guilt bubbled up inside him, but instead of confronting it head-on, he took his plate and went back to the garage. As the sky darkened, he flipped the lights on and continued working.

He idly wondered when the last time was that he had actually gotten this much work done in the garage. Dean would have certainly had something to say about this if he had been home, and this thought made Bobby feel even worse. He had promised Dean he would look after his younger brother and then abandoned him as soon as the Impala had disappeared from view. He looked at his watch and noticed that it was getting late, so he finally packed it in, and headed back to the house.

He had just walked in the door, noticing that most of the lights were off, when there was a clatter on the stairs and a wild-eyed Sam pushed past him, frantically flinging the front door open and running outside. Bobby stood still in shock for a minute, wondering what had just happened, but then he regained his faculties and took off after the younger man. Sam was outside in the cold winter air wearing nothing but sweatpants and a t-shirt. He couldn't imagine how cold the ground would be to run on in bare feet.

Sam ran on, his breath coming in sobbing gasps, not even noticing that Bobby was following. He seemed to have no particular place he was running to, just _away_.

"Sam! Stop!" Bobby ran behind him, trying unsuccessfully to keep up with the kid's long legs. "What's wrong?"

He might as well have not been there for all the attention the younger man paid him. Bobby huffed along behind him, hoping that Sam didn't damage his bare feet on anything left on the ground in the junkyard. If he hadn't been in such a hurry, he would have stopped to grab a blanket at least, but he was afraid that Sam would have disappeared if he couldn't at least keep him in view. This thought had barely had time to form when Sam rounded a corner and disappeared into the gloom.

Bobby sighed, turning back toward the house. He was going to need some help. The section of the junkyard Sam had disappeared into was away from the floodlights he kept in the yard, and he was going to need a flashlight or something. He walked back as quickly as possible, still trying to catch his breath.

Once inside the house, he headed straight for the kitchen and the industrial strength flashlight he kept in one of the drawers beside the sink. He detoured through the living room, grabbing the quilt he kept neatly folded on the back of the sofa, and then he stopped to grab an extra pair of socks from the basket of clean clothes beside the stairs waiting to be taken up to the boys' room.

Supplies in hand, he headed back out to the junkyard. Hadn't they just been through this scene when Sam had first woken up? Except that time it had been Dean searching for his missing brother, and this time it was Bobby . . . who had assured Dean he would take care of the younger man. He cringed; Dean was not going to be happy when he found out about the way this day had gone.

He headed back to the last place he had seen Sam and started to search methodically for the missing man. Halfway through his sweep of the third row of cars, he stopped. Sam was huddled against an old Rambler, knees pulled up and his head buried in his arms. He was shaking, but Bobby wasn't sure if that was from reaction or the cold.

"Sam?" He approached slowly, unfolding the quilt as he went. Sam had to be freezing. Bobby was cold, and he was actually dressed for the weather, not barefoot and in a t-shirt. "Sam, are you okay?"

Sam didn't even seem to hear him, still shaking and breathing in ragged gasps. Bobby continued to move toward the younger man, shaking the quilt out so that he could drape it over Sam's shoulders. For a split second, he had a mental image of a matador antagonizing a raging bull, but he shrugged off the thought. He was no Spanish fancy pants, and Sam was not an angry bull, no matter what his stupid brain kept telling him. He moved forward cautiously, crouching down beside the shivering body.

Slowly reaching around Sam's shoulders, he draped the quilt warmly, pulling it closed and attempting to tuck it under the younger man's arms, which were still folded tightly across his upraised knees. Sam flinched and turned away, attempting to pull even further into his self-imposed shell.

"Sam, look at me." Bobby thought maybe Sam just wasn't sure where he was. His first guess was that the kid had suffered some kind of nightmare, or even worse, maybe he had remembered something from his past.

Sam turned further away, moaning, "No!"

Bobby sighed. He was going to have to touch the kid. Awake or not, awkward or not, he couldn't leave him like this. He reached over and forced himself to grab Sam's shoulder with one hand, and with the other he attempted to pry the drooping head up so that he could see his face. Sam struggled, but Bobby refused to let go, and finally he was looking into Sam's eyes.

Well, okay, he was looking _at_ Sam's eyes, since the younger man refused to meet his gaze. His eyes darted down, and then to the side. But Bobby caught his breath painfully at the look on the kid's face. The last time he had seen this mixture of horror and devastation on Sam's face, he had been cradling the dead body of his big brother in his arms. Bobby had hoped to never see that expression again. A memory, then. And whatever it was, it was big.

Sam jerked his head away from Bobby's hand and immediately looked away again, seeming to be unaware of the tears tracking down his face. Bobby was close enough now to realize that Sam was shaking from a combination of the cold and a reaction to whatever it was he had remembered. He wished he knew what the boy had been up to before Dean had been pulled back in.

He still felt guilty about that. He had known Sam was back for almost an entire year, but he hadn't really kept in close contact with him, and he for sure hadn't let Dean know that his brother was back. He should have realized that something was seriously wrong with the younger hunter the very second Sam decided not to tell Dean he had returned. Knowing how he had suffered while Dean was gone, if Sam had been himself, he would never have wished that agony on his brother.

But Bobby had wanted a chance for Dean to be happy and out of the hunting life, and he had seemed to be doing okay with Lisa and Ben, so Bobby had gone along with Sam's request, not really thinking too deeply about it. And all that time, for an entire year, the youngest Winchester had been running amok with no soul, doing whatever it took to get the job done and feeling nothing. Bobby should have known – _would_ have known if he had let himself.

He shook his head impatiently. Now was not the time to be thinking would have, could have, should have. He needed to concentrate on what he could and would do to help Sam now. He looked down in concern at the bare feet shivering in front of him. Sam's toes were pale with the cold, and Bobby thought the nails looked almost blue. He shook his head in exasperation, pulling the socks from his coat pocket. How could he have forgotten about the socks?

He awkwardly fumbled a sock onto Sam's left foot, pulling it up as far as it would go. The last time he had put socks on somebody other than himself, it had probably been Sam then too. Only it had been a Sam about twenty-five years younger, who had giggled and squirmed in delight. This Sam just sat still, shuddering with the cold, not helping, but not pulling away either. Within the space of a few minutes, the socks were on, and Bobby was regretting that he hadn't thought to bring shoes, too.

He was starting to really get worried. The boy had to be warmer now, with the quilt wrapped firmly around him and socks on his feet, but the shaking hadn't slowed down at all. He was starting to think that maybe the shivering and shuddering had less to do with the cold, and more to do with reaction. He wasn't sure what to do to help. Finally, he tentatively reached his arm around Sam's shoulders in an attempt to impart some body heat and some comfort at the same time. He wasn't prepared for the reaction he received.

Sam pulled away sharply. "No! Don't!"

The younger man looked away again, and Bobby was starting to think that Sam was too ashamed to look at him. What had the boy remembered? "Sam? What's wrong with you, Boy? Did you have a bad dream?"

Sam kept his head down, but he shook his head in the negative, at least letting Bobby know that he was aware of what was going on around him.

"Well, did you remember something?"

This time Sam nodded his head lightly, his lips pressed together tightly.

"Can you tell me what you remembered?" Bobby felt like he was walking through a mine field, not sure what would set Sam off, but he needed to get the younger man inside out of the cold, and it seemed that to do that he was going to have to figure out what had happened.

Sam darted a quick glance at Bobby out of the corner of his eye, and then looked away again. He appeared to be debating whether or not he should say anything, but then he suddenly drooped miserably. "How can you stand it?"

His voice was so low and miserable that Bobby had to lean closer to understand him. "How can I stand what, Sam?" If there was something that Sam had remembered that Bobby had been through before, he would be glad to impart his wisdom for the kid's benefit.

This time Sam didn't even look up, and his voice came out ragged and pained. "Being near me." He caught his breath on a sob and then turned his head away again.

Bobby shifted uncomfortably. Whatever was going on with the kid, they were getting awfully close to what Dean would term a "chick-flick". And the older man had to admit he didn't know how to handle the emotional moments any more than Dean did. Suddenly he wished Dean was back, even though he knew Sam's big brother would be furious with how Bobby had taken care of his little brother today.

"Why wouldn't I want to be near you, Sam?" he pressed, trying to ignore the little voice in his head that insisted on pointing out that he _didn't_ want to be near the younger man. His skin was crawling from being so close to him, and all he wanted was to leave Sam to fend for himself and get back to safety.

"Because . . . " Sam choked out. "Because I tried to _kill _you." He broke down then, sobbing in earnest, and Bobby almost thought he had imagined the word Sam tacked on at the end. "_Again_."

And suddenly Bobby got it. The memory that had Sam looking like his world had come to an end was the same memory that Bobby had been trying so unsuccessfully to get over. Because the Sam that had tied Bobby to a chair and intended to kill him for being a father figure to him . . . that Sam was gone. He might have looked like this Sam, but the resemblance ended there. That Sam had possessed no morals, no real feelings, no _soul_. He had been thinking only of self-preservation, ready to kill Bobby to attain it.

_This_ Sam . . .the one who had fled the warm house in his bare feet to try to flee the memory of what the other one had done . . _this_ Sam would have been more likely to sacrifice _himself_ to save Bobby than to do what that other pseudo-Sam had done. Just the memory of it was tearing him apart. He was so devastated by the memory because Bobby meant that much to him.

And Bobby had _wanted_ him to remember. He had wanted Sam to know what he had done and why the older hunter was so skittish around him. He had wanted Sam to suffer like he had suffered. Because Bobby had been terrified. It wasn't the first time he had faced death; in fact, he had even died for a few minutes at Stull. It was because it was Sam that had tried to kill him. He had known at Stull that Sam wasn't in control of his body, and he hadn't taken it as personally.

But down in that basement, all that Bobby could see was Sam; he wasn't possessed, he wasn't drugged, it was all Sam. But Bobby could see now that it hadn't been _all_ Sam. A huge part of what made the young man _Sammy_ had been missing, and that had not been Sam's fault at all. He hadn't asked to be brought back without a soul; in fact, he hadn't expected to be brought back at all.

And the Sam that had tried to kill Bobby had been right. Dean had been willing to kill that Sam in order to get the real one back. So for Bobby to continue to hold the events of that horrible day against this Sam was just wrong. He just couldn't do it, not to the boy he had spent over a quarter of a century loving. Before he could think any more about it, he lunged forward and grabbed Sam roughly, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Sam stiffened and tried to pull away for a few startled seconds, and then he suddenly relaxed into Bobby's hold, tentatively hugging back. Bobby squeezed him harder, feeling all of the anger and resentment he had been feeling flow out through the hug. He blinked back tears, looking up at the stars in an effort to keep his composure. He messed up Sam's hair fondly. "Ya stupid idjit."

**_TBC..._**

**_To those of you who missed Dean in this chapter, my apologies, and don't worry - he will be back in the next chapter. This scene was just too important for me to leave out, and I felt that it needed to be just between Sam and Bobby. _**


	14. Chapter 14

**_A/N: Well RL is starting to settle down a little now, so hopefully my writing drought is over. :-) Thanks so much to Cynbad3 for keeping me moving on this (albeit slowly) through everything else in my RL! And thanks for the very quick beta! Thank you so much to all of you still reading this. You blew me away with your response to chapter 13. Thank you! _**

**_Disclaimer in chapter 1_**

**_Chapter 14_**

It had taken Sam a while to realize that someone was crouched down next to him in the cold, trying to ask him something. At first he was so overwhelmed with reliving that horrible dream . . ._no_, it had been a _memory_ . . . that he didn't register who it was or what they were saying. He was vaguely aware of a thin beam of light cutting the darkness, and then something soft and cold settled against his shoulders, chilling the skin on his arms. He pulled his arms in more tightly, flinching away from the touch. The chill only lasted for a few seconds, and then he started to feel warmer. He thought disjointedly that it must be some kind of cloth.

He huddled into the warmth surrounding him, but he couldn't stop shaking. His memory was stuck in an endless loop, and here came the beginning again.

_Sam stood in Bobby's basement, sharpening his knife until it would cut through just about anything. His work was interrupted by the pleading voice from behind him._

"Sam, look at me." The voice cut through his memories, and at first he thought it was just part of the loop. Bobby had done his best to get through to him then, too. But then he realized that someone had to have covered him with the quilt he was huddled into, and Dean and Castiel were out. By the process of elimination, it had to be Bobby.

He flinched away again. "No." How could Bobby be here? Why would he be trying to help after what Sam had done to him? He had seen the way the older man steered clear of him over the past several days, and now he understood. Nothing could ever be the same between the two after the horrible things he had done.

He was so surprised when Bobby actually touched him that he didn't resist at first. But then he tried to pull away from the strong hand that clamped under his chin, forcing his head up. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Bobby was trying to make eye contact, but he refused to look. He finally succeeded in wrenching his head away from Bobby's hand, and he turned further away, curling into a protective ball.

He huddled there, frantically wondering what Bobby would do next. At first the older man didn't move, and Sam wondered if he was trying to decide if he should just leave him alone. Which is why he was so shocked when Bobby suddenly reached down with a strong warm hand and grasped Sam's ankle firmly, using his other hand to clumsily attempt to pull a sock over the frozen foot. That was just about the last thing in the world he had expected the older man to do.

As shocked as he was, and as awkward as it was to sit there and let Bobby put his socks on for him, he didn't feel that he was capable of doing anything to stop him right now. He just sat there, still shivering violently. With both socks on, and his feet definitely feeling warmer, he wondered curiously what would happen next. That is, he wondered until the next showing of "Attempted Murder in the Basement" began.

_Sam stood in Bobby's basement, sharpening his knife until it would cut through just about anything. His work was interrupted by the pleading voice from behind him._

"_Listen to me. . . .you don't want to do this!" Bobby's voice was urgent, and his breath sawed in and out like he had just run a marathon, but Sam continued to study the edges of his knife dispassionately. "Sam? I've been like a father to you, boy. Somewhere inside you've got to know that!" _

This time Sam somehow managed to remember that while it was a real memory, it was not happening now, but he still jumped when a warm arm wrapped around him, interrupting his thoughts. He pulled away desperately. Bobby shouldn't have to touch him, not after what he had done. "No! Don't!"

"Sam? What's wrong with you, Boy? Did you have a bad dream?"

Bobby didn't sound particularly grateful that Sam had spared him from having to touch him, just worried. That only made him feel worse. He shook his head slightly, still trying to avoid Bobby's eyes.

"Well, did you remember something?" Bobby persisted doggedly.

This time he hesitated briefly before nodding reluctantly. He didn't want to talk about it; didn't even want to think about it, but it was becoming clear that Bobby wasn't going away.

"Can you tell me what you remembered?" This time Bobby's voice was soft and tentative, like he wasn't sure if he really wanted to ask the question.

Sam couldn't blame him. He didn't understand how Bobby could even be within sight of Sam after what he had done, let alone crouching beside him trying to comfort him. He darted a quick look up at the older man, confused to find that Bobby didn't look angry or disgusted, just concerned. Finally, his heart breaking, he blurted out the question that was burning through his mind. "How can you stand it?"

As clear as the question was to Sam, it didn't seem to be so clear to Bobby, who had traded concern for confusion. "How can I stand what, Sam?"

Sam sighed dejectedly. He was going to make him say it. "Being near me."

This didn't seem to clarify the issue either, and Bobby still looked confused when he responded slowly. "Why wouldn't I want to be near you, Sam?"

Maybe Bobby did understand what Sam was asking and was just acting like he didn't so that Sam would have to say it out loud. He didn't want to do that because it would make it even more real than it already was, but he owed the older man, so he would do it. "Because . . ." He swallowed hard. "Because I tried to _kill _you." And then almost as an afterthought he whispered, "Again."

Bobby rocked back on his heels, and Sam wondered briefly if it was hurting the older man's legs to be crouching there like that. He looked up at Bobby's face again, surprised to see the struggle going on behind the older man's eyes. He was just curling up into a ball again, when he was shocked to feel strong arms wrap around him. He struggled at first, not sure why Bobby was . . . was he being _hugged_? Sam stopped struggling in astonishment. It felt so good and safe that he relaxed against his surrogate father, tentatively hugging him back.

Bobby pulled him in tighter, almost squishing him, and ruffled his hair, reminding Sam of the Bobby of his childhood. He almost didn't hear the soft words mumbled against his hair.

"Ya stupid idjit."

. . . . .

600 miles west, in Casper Wyoming, Cas looked at Dean with a self-satisfied smirk.

"What?" Dean wasn't feeling much like smirking. After a grueling six hundred mile drive, their search had been fruitless. He was frustrated and annoyed with the angel, and all he wanted was to check on Sam. But for some reason his cell phone hadn't had a signal all day, and Cas had been so intent on his search that they hadn't had time to stop and use a pay phone.

All day, Dean had been regretting that he had left his brother alone so soon after his meltdown. He knew that technically Sam wasn't alone, but he was concerned about the interaction between his brother and Bobby, who obviously was still not over the incident in the basement. He didn't think that the older man would actually hurt Sam, but he was concerned that Bobby might not keep a close enough eye on his little brother.

And now after nine hours in the Impala and even more hours spent tromping around in Casper looking for something obscure that only Cas seemed to be aware of, the angel stood there smirking at him. "What?" He thought the question was important enough to repeat.

Cas smiled again. "We can go back now. We have accomplished our mission." He turned and headed back toward the Impala.

Dean stood there for a minute, trying to catch up. They had accomplished nothing. They had wasted the whole day. They hadn't found anything at all, and the only thing he could think of that they had accomplished was leaving Sam and Bobby home alone all day together, and . . . . "Wait . . . _what_?"

**_TBC . . ._**


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: My sincere apologies for the incredibly long time since my last post. The biggest of several RL complications I had going on was a possibility of a fairly large promotion at work, which I ended up getting. For the first several weeks I was attempting to do both my old job and my new one interspersed with week long trips away for training. I finally started to get that under control (now I only have the new job to worry about) and then my hard drive crashed and I was too busy to do anything about it. After almost a month with no computer I finally got it up and running and lost almost nothing thanks to my backup files. Unfortunately the one thing I lost was over half of chapter 15. Strangely, I ended up rewriting some of the part that survived the purge, and this shorter but hopefully better chapter has emerged. **_

_**Thanks to Cynbad3 for all the encouragement with everything and the very speedy beta job! Thanks so much to everyone for the interest you have shown in this story. The fact that you're still reading and reviewing after all this time means the world to me! **_

_**Disclaimer in chapter 1**_

_**Chapter 15**_

Dean was pretty sure he could actually feel the blood boiling in his veins. He started to speak, but then decided that it might be better if he counted to ten before he said what was on the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately, when he got to ten, he didn't feel any calmer than he had before he started. He wondered if counting to a hundred might help.

Finally, he cleared his throat, thinking carefully about the words he was about to speak. "What _exactly_ was our mission, Castiel?" He normally didn't use the angel's full name, but he was so angry right now he couldn't think of him as _Cas_.

The smirk had disappeared from the angel's face, and he regarded Dean impassively. "I believe you have figured it out, Dean."

Dean swallowed hard. "Are you telling me that the only mission we were actually on was to leave my seriously _traumatized_ brother alone for the day with a man who is so uncomfortable around him that he can barely manage to stay in the same room with him? This whole missing weapons thing was something you made up?"

Castiel continued to watch him calmly. "Yes, that is correct."

"Unbelievable!" Dean was so furious that he didn't have the first clue how to handle the situation. Sam had been through so much already. "Why?" He had so much more to ask, but he didn't know where to begin. "I thought you were Sam's friend!"

Cas nodded emphatically. "I _am_ his friend. That's why I needed to do this." He sighed. "Dean, as much as we wanted it to happen, your brother was never going to get better on his own. I had to take this step precisely because I _do_ consider Sam a friend."

"That's not true!" Dean couldn't believe how little faith Cas was showing in Sam right now. "Of course he's getting better. It's just a matter of time until he gets through this."

Cas nodded patiently. "Yes, it is . . . now. That's why we can go back. The only person that could help Sam has done so. And I am sorry, Dean, but it was _not_ you."

"Not me?"Dean thought about that for a few seconds, a flash of raw pain running through him. Helping Sam was what he did, what he'd spent his life doing. "What's that supposed to mean?" If Dean couldn't help his brother, (and even if he wouldn't admit it to the angel, deep down he knew it was really true . . . Sam really hadn't been getting better) then who _would_ be able to help him?

Cas stood silently in front of him, obviously waiting for him to get it. When he did, he wanted to hit himself in the head for being so stupid.

"Bobby? _Bobby_ is the only person who can help him? Well, fine. If I can't help him, then I can't think of anybody I would rather see step in. Oh wait . . . Bobby can't even stand to be in the same room as Sam. How is that supposed to help Sam get better?"

Cas smiled, looking quite proud of himself, in spite of Dean's heavy sarcasm. "That's the beauty of it, Dean. _Sam_ is the only person who could help _Bobby_, too. But I needed to get them alone so that they had nobody else to rely on. More than that, they will have to tell you if they choose to."

Dean suddenly had an overwhelming urge to talk to his brother. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, squinting in the dim light as he looked at the display, but he still had no service. His eyes narrowed, glaring at the angel. "Are you blocking my phone? Is that why I haven't been able to use it all day?"

Castiel smiled and headed for the passenger door of the Impala. "It's a long drive back, so I suggest we get started." He got in the car and looked up expectantly at Dean. "The sooner we leave, the sooner you can check on your brother."

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Dean stared at him in shock for a minute, floored by this new development, but then shook his head and obediently headed back toward the car. He had never witnessed this devious side of Cas before, at least not turned toward the good guys. It kind of made him wonder what other secrets the angel might be keeping.

_**TBC. . .**_


	16. Chapter 16

**_A/N Here is the final chapter. Again, my apologies for taking so long to get it to you. I kind of let RL derail me a little. Thanks so much for everyone who stayed with me all the way through. You have all meant so much to me! A very special thank you to my wonderful beta, Cynbad3, who delayed watching tonight's episode so she could help me get this finished and proofed before I saw tonight's premiere. I didn't want whatever might have happened tonight to effect the events of this story, which took place several months ago. _**

**_Disclaimer in chapter 1_**

**_Chapter 16_**

Dean was silent the entire trip home, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Castiel had played them all in an effort to get Sam and Bobby alone. He hadn't bothered to try to call again, figuring there would be no point with the sneaky angel sitting smugly beside him. It still rankled that he had not been the best one to be able to fix his brother's issues. He had always been there for Sammy, and he hated that he couldn't be there for him now.

Fortunately Bobby must have been able to get past his own discomfort long enough to help Sam deal with things. At least Dean assumed he had. It was a reasonable assumption considering Castiel had said that the mission was accomplished and they could go home now. He glanced over at his passenger, annoyed to find Castiel watching him impassively.

"What?" If his question came out more like a bark, that was the angel's own fault for leaving him in the dark on his intentions.

Castiel blinked and turned to look out his side window, still silent. Dean shook his head in frustration and focused back on the road. The tension thrumming through his body grew as the sun started to emerge on the horizon and the sky brightened in preparation to starting another day. They had been gone far too long. At least they were finally getting close to home. He grinned involuntarily at the use of the unfamiliar word. _Home_. It was amazing to think that after their lives full of transiency and motel rooms, they actually had a home.

As much as he had loved his father, Bobby had been more of a dad to the two brothers than John ever had. Instead of the gruff drill - sergeant their father had been, Bobby treated them as the sons he had never had. After Stull, the older man had been there for Dean for anything he needed. Even though Dean had left the hunt in honor of Sam's last request, he had still kept in close touch with Bobby. He had called him frequently, keeping him updated on things like the strangeness of his first day of working a real job, what was going on with Lisa and Ben, and how it felt to have actual neighbors to hang out with.

The one thing he had never talked about was how he felt about losing his little brother. He knew that Bobby understood to some extent. He had lost his wife . . . twice, and he had loved Sam like his own son, although Sam and Bobby hadn't had the closeness that Dean had developed with the older hunter. At one time, when Sam was just a little guy, he and Bobby had been exceptionally close, but the older Sam got and the angrier he got the more he had pulled away from everyone, and that had included Bobby Singer. Since they had reunited with the older hunter just before their father's death, things had been awkward and distant between the two men.

Dean knew that didn't mean that they cared about each other less, but there seemed to be a wall between them, leaving their conversations stilted and superficial. The worse things got between Sam and Dean as the years passed, the worse they got between Sam and Bobby, as their surrogate father was forced to choose sides. _Dean _was not the one drinking demon blood or hanging out with a demon girlfriend, so Bobby hadn't had much choice as to which side to choose.

Dean sighed, glancing at Castiel out of the corner of his eye surreptitiously. The angel still had his head turned, gazing serenely out the window. For just a fraction of a second Dean was reminded of the Cas he had met in the future, mellow, drugged-up and self-satisfied. He shook his head, smirking at the image. About the only thing this Castiel had in common with that one was the self-satisfied part. And Dean could not wait to get back to the house so that he could see what that was all about.

It seemed to take forever, although in actuality it was probably only a few hours, until they finally pulled into the driveway that wound through Bobby's junkyard and led up to the house. Neither man had spoken in hours, with the exception of Dean's unanswered question. If it had been Sam riding in the passenger seat it could have been a comfortable silence, born of long years of companionship. But this silence had been oppressive, heavy and almost unbearable. Dean couldn't wait to park the Impala in front of Bobby's garage and silence the engine. He pulled the key from the ignition, again looking over at Castiel.

He was totally exhausted, and not in a good way. He hadn't slept in twenty-seven hours, and during that time he had driven twelve hundred miles and spent several fruitless hours searching for something that didn't even exist, and stressing over leaving his brother. Really, now that he thought about it, Cas could just zap himself off the same way he had appeared. Dean didn't have time to worry about him right now. All he wanted to do was see that his brother was okay and then get some sleep.

Ignoring Cas, he opened the door and got out of the Impala, stretching. He had just spent nearly nine hours in the car, only stopping twice, and only long enough to fill up the gas tank and grab some caffeine to keep himself going. His legs were cramped after that long sitting in the driver's seat, and he really needed to get rid of that last batch of caffeine before he embarrassed himself. He strode toward the garage quickly, almost forgetting the silent angel in his urgency. After a brief stop in the half-bath Bobby had installed in the garage to keep from tracking grease all over his house, he headed back out to the house. It was time to check on little brother.

He headed for the kitchen, but found it deserted, so he changed course to Bobby's office. Finding no one there either, he was puzzled. It was mid-morning. Bobby had not been in the garage, although his truck was, and Dean wasn't sure where else the mechanic would be. And where was Sam? Maybe he was out wandering the grounds somewhere like he often was lately. That would explain Sam's disappearance, but Dean couldn't figure out where Bobby could be. He checked Bobby's bedroom next, but the bed was neatly made and the room was empty.

He suddenly realized that Castiel had been following him silently, that smug, knowing smile fixed firmly on his face. Dean suppressed an urge to punch the annoying angel and moved on to the bedroom he shared with his brother. Opening the door cautiously, he tightened his grip on the doorknob at the tableau he had stumbled upon. He had found both of the missing men.

Sam was sleeping soundly, looking more at peace than he had in . . . . well, probably years. No frown lines marred the innocence of his sleeping face, and the ridiculously long body was draped bonelessly on the bed. No nightmares were bothering Sam right now, that much was certain. But the thing that made Dean want to pick his jaw up off the floor was that Bobby had dragged a chair in right next to the bed, and he was watching Sam fondly, a look that Dean hadn't seen in a while, at least not directed at the youngest Winchester. He had both feet flat on the floor and was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. One hand was curled loosely around Sam's upper arm, and Dean could tell that the contact seemed to be grounding both men.

He looked up suddenly, sensing the presence in the doorway. His face lit up in a sheepish grin as he carefully let go of Sam's arm and rose from his seat to meet Dean in the hall. He jerked his head toward the stairs and headed in that direction, leaving Dean to follow after him.

Castiel was waiting for them in the kitchen, sitting patiently at the table, back straight and hands folded primly in front of him. Bobby nodded to him distractedly, and then turned to Dean.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" He headed toward the coffee pot in the corner, pouring himself a cup. "We didn't hear anything from you." The tone of his voice indicated that he had just suddenly realized that seemed unusual.

Castiel's pleased expression increased, although Dean didn't know how that was even possible. If Sammy hadn't been sleeping peacefully upstairs, Dean would have knocked that grin off of the angel's face, friend or no friend. Cas had apparently not only manipulated Dean's cell phone preventing him from calling, but he must have also somehow kept Sam and Bobby from realizing that they should have received a phone call long before now.

He shook his head. Who would have ever thought Castiel would be so good at being devious. He turned his attention back to Bobby. "Apparently we did. How did things go here?"

Bobby furrowed his brow in confusion at Dean's cryptic response, but he shrugged it off and replied. "Honestly, Dean, we barely spoke to each other all day. I was working in the garage, and Sam was off wandering somewhere in the yard." He shook his head, remembering their solitary day together. "I'm sorry, Dean. I dropped the ball. I didn't watch out for him after I promised you I would." He looked back at Dean, obviously expecting to be facing the younger man's wrath.

Dean was confused. That didn't sound like the breakthrough Castiel had predicted. He turned questioning eyes on the angel, who nodded encouragingly.

Dean turned back to Bobby. "And then what happened?"

Bobby shook his head sorrowfully. "He remembered. I was just heading in to the house to go to bed when he went barreling past me like he didn't even know I was there. I followed him and found him barefoot in the yard, huddled up against a car. He didn't even have a coat on. I finally got him to talk to me, and he told me he had remembered what . . . _RoboSam_ had tried to do to me."

Dean sat down heavily in a chair. Sam had remembered something that traumatic, and he hadn't been here to help him deal with the fallout. How could this be a good thing?

Bobby shook his head in amazement. "All this time I've been feeling like the victim in all this. I never really thought about what it would look like from his side. Dean, I've been trying to forgive Sam for what he tried to do to me, but that wasn't Sam. I finally get that. When he realized what he had almost done, he was so torn up about it that he asked me how I could stand to even be near him."

Dean was shocked to see Bobby's eyes glitter with unshed tears. "He did?" His own voice was hoarse with emotion, and that was just from hearing about the incident, so he could well imagine how much worse it would have been to have actually been there.

"Yeah." Bobby scrubbed a weary hand across his chin. "And that's what made me realize that he was just as much a victim as I was. It was almost like being . . . possessed in reverse. The part of Sam who controls who he really is wasn't home, although I hate it that he's starting to remember the things he did anyway."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, how fair is that? He has two completely separate sets of memories, and they're both bad. Although if this set is this bad, I can't imagine how horrible it would be if he remembered the other set! I wish we could just write off the past eighteen months so he would never have to remember any of it."

Castiel cleared his throat. "So you were able to work things out?"

"Oh. Yeah we were." Bobby shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not much for all that touchy feely stuff, but I guess sometimes you just gotta shed a few manly tears and hug somebody." He grinned self-consciously.

Dean fought unsuccessfully to hide his smile. "You cried and hugged? Wow, and I missed it!"

"Shut up, Winchester." Bobby attempted to come across as angry, but Dean could tell it was just for show. Then his expression softened. "Honestly, I don't know if it would have ever happened if you two hadn't been out somewhere when this all came down. The only reason I was able to help Sam was because I was the only one here who _could_ help him. I couldn't just leave him out there on his own. And then helping _him_ finally helped me to put it all into perspective."

Dean looked over at Castiel, startled at exactly how perceptive the angel had actually been. "Yeah, good thing I wasn't here then."

Cas gave him _that_ look – the one that said "I told you so", and Dean groaned inwardly, suspecting the angel would be throwing this back in his face for a long time.

"Hey, Bobby, I wondered what happened to . . . ." All three heads turned to face the door as a rumpled and sleepy Sam entered the room, stifling a yawn. He stopped mid-step when he noticed the two extra people in the room. "Dean!"

Dean smiled broadly at his brother. "Hey, Sammy! Didja miss me?" He studied Sam's expression closely, pleased at what he saw there.

Sam looked exhausted but relaxed. In fact, Dean hadn't seen him looking this relaxed in a very long time, although something about his expression seemed almost shy at the moment.

"Hey, Dean. Hey, Cas. Did you guys find what you were looking for?" Sam offered them a lopsided smile, but looked a little disappointed about something.

"Yeah, Sammy. We did." Dean's mind was racing, trying to solve this most recent puzzle. What could Sam possibly find disappointing about his beloved (and extremely cool) brother coming back? He would have thought that his little brother would be anxious about him being gone without a word, leaving him alone with just Bobby for company. . .

Suddenly Dean knew what the problem was. He shook his head ruefully. Did he know his little brother or what? Sam was already regretting the loss of the closeness he had developed with Bobby after his meltdown the night before. Now that Dean was back, he would be expecting things to go back to normal.

Bobby must have been on the same wavelength, because Dean could have kissed him (on the forehead. . . in a totally manly way, of course)for what he said next. "Dean, you must be exhausted after all that driving. And did you even sleep at all last night?" Without even giving Dean a chance to respond, he plowed ahead. "I think you should probably go get some sleep. I'm going to go work in the garage." He took a few steps in that direction, and then paused as if an idea had suddenly come to him. "Hey, Sam, would you mind helping me for a while? It's really a two man job."

Dean grinned inwardly as Sam lit up like a Christmas tree. "Sure, I can help you Bobby. Let me just go get my shoes on!"

Dean smiled broadly once his brother had headed for the stairs. Things seemed like they were finally getting back on track. _This_ disaster had been averted. Unfortunately, the bigger disaster still loomed on the horizon. If only they could find some way to keep Death's wall from falling and forcing Sam to confront the more horrific memories hidden there. Maybe he would see if Castiel could help with that. After all, he had been right on the money with this idea about how to fix this. Yeah, that's what he would do. He'd see if Cas could find a way to keep the wall intact.

As Sam came bounding down the stairs and out the door to Bobby's garage, Dean turned his determined gaze on Castiel. "Hey Cas, you got a minute?"

_**Finis**_


End file.
